First Steps
by Lili Evans dotcom
Summary: Bonus scenes that were cut from All Over Again. Do NOT need to read this to understand AOA, but really MUST read All Over Again to get this! Got it? D
1. Chapter 1

**Dear Readers,**

**THAT'S IT! FINISHED! Exams are over and Summer has officially commenced, (not a moment too soon in my opinion)! I now can get back to the chapter you are all waiting four and (crossing fingers) in shouldn't be very long at all. Hint hint ;) But to keep you all going for these last few days of waiting, I fished out another scene that never quite made it into the official story. However because it's longer than I remembered I've posted it as a one-shot story rather than a Forum-Thread quite simply because it wouldn't fit.^^ **

**This is not really a true "Deleted Scene », like the previous one, in the sense that what takes place, did actually happen. Originally, it was designed as a flashback, to show the Marauders as they were in fifth year, before the incident with Snape, when they're a little younger and a lot less mature. Its other role was to show a part of the story that had me a little worried for a while: how Lily and Sirius' friendship worked out with the guys still picking on Snape.**

**In the canon scene by the lake it always struck me as odd that, although both Sirius and James were tormenting Snape, Lily only really got pissed off with James. This, combined with the fact that James asked Sirius what he thinks her "problem " is, rather than Remus who, I always imagined knew her better, with both of them being prefects, was one of the reasons that Lily's and Sirius' friendship never seemed "non-canon ", in fact to me it was completely possible. That and the fact that it was Lily who wrote the letter to Sirius in book four, rather than James. What did bug me however was how they would be friends despite Sirius' obvious continued enmity with the Slytherin. This scene is therefore basically a "working out " in my mind of how they would overcome that barrier. **

**It starts Sunday lunchtime, the day after Chapter 1 and the scene with Emmeline Vance. For those who also remember the note, it is the same day both Lily and Sirius mention in Chapter 3, where they talk about Lily's love of drawing. **

**So, there you go; the scene is set and I hope you enjoy this insight into the younger Marauders and the girls' minds.**

* * *

"Not on your life Moony, my friend. The day Hufflepuff beats Ravenclaw is the day I quit the team and join the Gobstones club instead. "

Remus rolled his eyes at the exaggeration but took the point his friend was making a little more seriously, head tilted to the side in thought.

"I still say that Diggory is a pretty decent seeker, with three years of experience to boot. That new kid Bones found may be good, but it doesn't change the fact that he's only in second year. That's a lot of pressure for a twelve year old. "the werewolf said, turning back to look at his friend before realising that he was in fact talking to empty space. He swung round in confusion before a rueful smile warmed his eyes and he shook his sandy head in reluctant amusement.

James' attention had, as so often happened, deviated from the subject in hand to apply itself fully to the task of turning the pretty blond girl walking past them into a starry-eyed puddle on the floor. Sure enough, one devilish grin from the school idol was enough to make her round face flush bright red, polished fingers fiddling nervously with the wayward strands of flaxen hair she was attempting to hide behind.

Remus sighed and waited patiently as James stopped close enough to whisper into the flustered girl's ear, something that, judging from her nervous giggle, was probably not something he wanted to know. The girl's brunette friend was tapping her foot in a mixture of impatience and ill-concealed jealousy and Remus briefly considered sending her an apologetic shrug. But before he could make up his mind, James was by his side once more, grinning wickedly as the girl swayed to lean against the wall, touching the ear he'd just playfully nipped, her blue eyes wide and decidedly dazed.

James' wickedly innocent grin made the werewolf roll his eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time and the two boys continued down the corridor, ignoring the stares, some jealous, some adoring when to Remus' surprise, James continued their debate precisely where he'd left off.

"It's true I admit, but even if the kid does crack, Bones and Davis are still some of the best chasers in the school. Besides yours truly of course."

The evil glint in his eyes deepened at his friend's momentary confusion. It took a moment but Remus recovered and retorted with a deceptively placid smile.

"Strange; I thought they really were THE best in the school. Doesn't Bones still hold the record number of goals scored by single player. »

Just as predicted, twin fires ignited in James' eyes at the obvious challenge. He took a deep breath, all but ready to launch into a tantrum when suddenly the teasing glint in the werewolf's innocent gaze registered. His full lips twitched despite himself, and quick as it had come, his temper vanished, and the school's Golden Boy threw back his shaggy head and laughed, acknowledging the hit. He couldn't however resist at pointing out the reason for this irritating truth.

"You know full well that the prat's got a year on me. End of seventh year, that record will be smashed into the dirt, just like your pretty face if you don't wipe that grin off it. "

The said grin stayed firmly in place; they both knew that the show of anger was for a laugh, just as they both knew that, with the full moon in less than a week's time, it was as impossible for James to carry out the threat as it was for him to fly to that same moon. But Remus obligingly let the point slide, only allowing one eyebrow to raise in amusement, which James decided to ignore.

It was at this moment, as the two boys were approaching the portrait of the bowl of fruit that concealed the hidden entrance to the school kitchens, that the third member of the Marauders appeared, as smoothly and silently as a ghost from the shadows, falling into step with the pair without a thought.

"Sirius, we'd all but given up on you. Where've you been? " James' voice was already filled with laughter, imagining where he thought he knew full well his friend had disappeared to for the past two hours.

The black-haired boy didn't answer for a few seconds, his beautiful face creased into an expression of hesitation before shrugging his broad shoulders with inimitable languid elegance. Both Remus and James glanced at him in new curiosity. Usually when Sirius returned from one of his frequent rendezvous, he was at his most exuberant, the high from sexual satisfaction transforming him instantly into "Happy Sirius ". But today his brother seemed lost in his thoughts. James frowned, thinking about Sirius' stunned expression of wonder when he'd returned to the dorm the night before. Something had been bubbling inside him, bursting to get out, something big. But to James' surprise and no small annoyance Sirius hadn't confided in him, for what must have been the first time ever, so James had swallowed the burning curiosity and had forbore to press him. Today however the look on his brother's face seemed more troubled than simply in shock, so he asked carefully

"What's up mate, you've been acting weird since yesterday. "

Sirius' thoughtful gaze lifted to meet his friend's eyes, before twisting his perfect lips into a billboard smile. The dimple danced, as did those deep violet orbs and he threw back quicker than lightening.

"James buddy, I didn't know you cared. ", batting his ridiculously long lashes in friendly mimicry of one of the hundreds of worshipping girls the school seemed filled with.

Remus chuckled quietly as James rolled his eyes and shoved his brother lightly in the shoulder, but the cautious look on his face remained. James was right, Sirius HAD been acting odd, but if the raven-haired boy didn't want to talk about it just yet, than neither of his friends would push him.

They rounded the corner, still laughing and came to a stop in front of the faded, rather dull still-life of a bowl of fruit. Without even a glance, James brown fingers shot and trailed with deliberate slowness down the side of the green pear, and on cue, the fruit squeaked and transformed into the handle to the door to the Hogwarts kitchens.

As they descended the stairs, Peter came to meet them, chocolate and a huge grin spread all over his round face as he licked the last of the sticky sweetness from the tips of his fingers.

"Finally! I was wondering where you'd all got too. "

Sirius lounged forwards with an apologetic grin and ruffled his friend's fluffy blond hair, eyeing the remains of what once must have been a ginormous pile of chocolate pancakes with a teasing grin.

"Lucky we got here when we did or there'd be none left, hey Pete? "

The smaller boy flushed lightly but grinned back, and followed Sirius and Remus over to the table. James stood by the doorway with a strangely puzzled look on his handsome facing as though waiting for someone…OOFF!

"Master Jamie, master JAMIE! "

The wrinkled little cannonball's squeals were almost unintelligible with his thin arms round James middle, face smothered in the Gryffindor red jersey.

James let out a shout of laughter and pulled the little house-elf into a breath-taking hug, swinging him around and around as easily as a feather.

"Tipsy, how're you doing mate? Training hard I hope. " James put on a mock stern look and the goggle-eyed house-elf named Tipsy giggled and nodded, ears flapping like bat-wings. A second later he had launched into a long, excited explanation of what sounded like every minute of every day for the past month and Sirius rolled his eyes and turned back to his plate. He had no personnel vendetta against house-elves, apart from one in particular, but he could never quite understand his brother's obvious affection for the weird creatures.

Right now James was sitting crossed-legged on the floor, his eyes dancing in amusement at the house-elf's tales of triumph and embarrassments as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. Which let's face it, Sirius thought; completely unimpressed by the description of how Tipsy had accidentally woken up Professor Slughorn whilst cleaning his room, it quite frankly was not.

Tipsy's mother on the other hand, Sirius admitted openly, was something special. Mrs Flipsy, as both the boys called her, had been James' nursemaid from when he had first opened his eyes, a second mother to a boy who had everything in the world other than time with his parents. James adored the old elf who was tough as old boots and had the uncanny ability of knowing immediately if her young, rebellious charge was telling a little white lie to escape punishment. When Sirius had moved in only a few months ago, Mrs Flipsy had immediately claimed him as another disobedient boy to be as much scolded as doted upon. The implacable raven-haired teenager winced, remembering the furious earful he had received having refused to eat the spinach she had determinedly placed on his plate. Even now, just thinking about the fifteen minute rant made him cringe, almost as much as the dreaded green vegetable he had stuffed into his mouth as fast as humanely possible.

Yes Mrs Flipsy was a tarter, she probably got that from MJ, Sirius laughed inwardly. The elf's no-nonsense attitude and complete love and devotion towards her family, had both equally stunned the Black runaway. At home, discipline meant torture, love bragging about his virtues to any other pureblood society lady and if he was lucky, being allowed to escape to his room for a brief hour of rare solitude and respite.

Mrs Flipsy had only the one son, and Tipsy was excitable to say the least, ever brimming with, in Sirius' opinion a slightly nauseating enthusiasm for everything in general, most of all his six month training at Hogwarts. The young elf was unfortunately also hopelessly clumsy, finding even the task of carrying plates, a dangerous undertaking. Add to this the never forgotten fact that the little thing had throw their first attempt at Remus' idea of a Map, into the dustbin along with one extremely long, highly difficult potions essay due for the first week back, and Sirius couldn't help but find the creature less than appealing.

James on the other hand adored him, and made a point of coming down to the kitchens to visit the little elf at least once a week. Sirius rolled his eyes and stuffed another fork-load of pancake into his mouth. If it wasn't for the free food…

* * *

It was some two hours later that the quartet finally made their very full way up the stone steps into the main body of the school, listening carefully at the portrait hole before slipping silently into the empty corridor. Sunday lunch was long over and most students were either relaxing or studying in their various spots, and the four boys couldn't help but be thankful that their numerous fan clubs seemed to be doing the same thing.

James was a shameless attention seeker at the best of times, Peter too thrived on the novel sensation of being worshipped and adored if only for his connections rather than on his own merit. However even they admitted that, on occasion, the winy, giggling groupies who followed their every move, were as irritating as the other two Marauders claimed; Remus reluctantly honest and Sirius in acid tone that left no doubt whatsoever as to his deepest contempt and loathing for his adoring fans.

It was because of the giggling girls that on occasion the Marauders slipped away to eat their meals in piece, without the surrounding babble of blonds, brunettes and the occasional carrot-top, down to the kitchens where the house-elves had welcomed them with open arms since their second year.

The boy's stretched and yawned and Remus asked pensively

"Any ideas how to spend the rest of the day? "

James and Sirius glanced at each other, before nodding their black heads and saying in solemn unison

"Practicing. "

Remus' brow creased into a frown of vexation, odd for one who's easiness of temper and never failing cool, was legendary. He huffed disapprovingly, opening his mouth to repeat the same old arguments.

"I still think this is reckless and stupid and definitely danger… "

But the others were already cutting him off. James grabbed his arm firmly, steering him down the corridor as Peter pushed from behind. Sirius moved languidly beside them, sweeping the away the lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes with a slightly bored smile of amusement saying

"Give it up Moony. You should know by now that we are going through with this, like it or not. "

Remus pouted but rolled his eyes with reluctant humour.

"You don't think this is just slightly MY business I suppose. ", he protested half-heartedly but without much hope.

James' eyes sparkled in pure mischief as he pointed out with a broad smirk

"Considering you won't be conscious for most of it, no, not really "

Remus sighed once more and, for what seemed like the thousandth time, gave up, shaking his arm out of his friends grip declaring that he was perfectly able to walk by himself even if he couldn't think.

The four boys laughed and carried on, mounting the stairs, through the corridors making their slow but sure way up to the seventh floor and the Room of Requirement. Unfortunately however, this path took them past the library and it was just as they were crossing this same corridor that Severus Snape stumbled out through the doorway and straight into the foursome's path.

The five students froze in unison. Snape's coal black eyes flickered from one face to the other, nervous as a cat in unknown territory. Remus shut his eyes briefly, knowing without looking the huge gleeful grin that would have spread over his two friends' faces, matching and evil as they smirked at their hated enemy. Peter looked from one cruel smile to the other, in eager anticipation, and not for the first time, the werewolf felt the urge to hit him smartly on the head for encouraging what could only really be called their bullying.

"Snivellous! "

The slight widening of Snape's eyes, made James' smirk grow impossibly bigger as he sauntered forward a pace, twirling his wand between brown fingers. Remus hadn't even seen him take it out. Being brought up by two very well-know aurors had meant that James had been taught seventh year level duelling before he had entered school. Beside him Sirius followed his movement, the catlike grace still awe-inspiring really even to one who had know him so long. Remus shivered slightly, recognising the dreaded glint of Black madness in his friend's eyes as he gazed with such hated at the scrawny Slytherin.

Snape looked like he wanted nothing more than to retreat back in to the safety of the library but he gritted his teeth and held his ground, lip curled in obvious loathing for the two School idols who smirked at him so evilly.

"Out of my way, Potter. "

The look of hurt that creased James' handsome face would have melted the hardest of hearts if not for that glint of wicked laughter.

"Don't be such a spoil-sport; we only wanted you to participate in our little game. "

"Game..? " the boy repeated warily and those hazel eyes sparkled openly with unholy mirth. James and Sirius dug their unoccupied hands into their pockets in unison and Remus barely suppressed the groan.

"Yeah, " James continued evilly, holding up the handful of little balloons that seemed to be filled with an ominously pulsating green liquid.

"Target practice. "

Snape ran. The scrawny black-haired boy was halfway down the corridor to freedom when suddenly an invisible robe tightened round his angle and yanked him painfully into midair. Snape let out a snarl of frustration as Sirius' Expelliarmous not only blasted his wand out of hand but also threw his suspended body hard against the stone wall, causing him to hiss through his bared teeth in pain.

From his upside-down view, he could see the two taller boy's advancing towards him, identical smirks hovering on their gleeful faces; behind them Pettigrew goggled eagerly while Lupin simply watched in silence, an unspoken apology tightening the skin around his amber eyes. Snape glared back at him viciously, hating the freak's pity more than his Nemesis' cruelty, despising the pale gaunt looking prefect for the cowardice no GRYFFINDOR should posses.

James flicked his wand so that the squirming little grease ball was pushed forward until his scrawny figure was pressed totally up against the wall, before stuffing all but one of the balloons back into his pocket. He grinned wickedly into the Slytherin's face, ignoring the loathing that contorted his already unattractive features and playing with studied innocence with the little green ball, throwing in the air and catching it before it fell.

"Know what this is Snivellous? " The only answer he received was a bellow of rage that came out muffled as the green and silver tie fell into the suspended boy's face. James continued without missing a beat.

"Stinksap bombs my greasy friend. A common muggle prank put to even better use. " James turned to wink at his best mate and Sirius' dimple danced in evil delight back at him. His shaggy hair gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the nearby window as he tilted his handsome head to the side, eying the upside down boy with deep concentration before saying with deceptive thoughtfulness

"Fifty galleons says I hit his nose? " James sniggered.

"What that oversized conk? I wouldn't give you twenty. I however say Forty galleons says I can hit that weeny little dick of his. "

Sirius licked his lips in vicious anticipation and said promptly

"You're on. "

Remus winced as the first stink sap filled rubber balloon hit the Slytherin squarely in the face. The boy spluttered and swore as the green mucus stung his eyes and ran down his nose making him choke. James and Sirius high-fived each other, their cruel laughter echoing down the corridor. Peter whooped as Sirius' balloon exploded on Snape's crumpled shirt staining the already shabby material irreparably. The green stuff stuck to the skin like glue and the dark curtains of hair swung back and forth as the boy coughed in an effort to clear his airways enough to swear furiously at his tormentors, his face red with humiliation that only made James and Sirius laugh harder.

Suddenly James turned around to grin disarmingly at his friend who stood rigid and undecided behind them, saying cheerily

"Come on Moony, you're missing out on the fun. There's fifty galleons going to whoever can hit the empty space where the git's balls should be. " he juggled the balloons deftly between his fingers, showing off as ever.

Remus shook his head and said softly

"Guys, why don't we just leave it. "

He turned his sad gaze to where Snape still struggled pathetically against his invisible bonds and finished quietly

"Joke's over. "

A frown creased James' brow, his lips turning downwards into a pout at his friend's obvious disapproval. Then he sighed putting the green balls back into his pocket with huff.

"You're no fun anymore Moony. "

Sirius looked over his shoulder to grin handsomely at James' put out expression.

"Who knows; maybe he'll start taking points off us next. Now he's a PREFECT. " he mocked wickedly.

The laughter broke the tension and cleared the uncomfortable look from Remus' weary face. James sighed a final time before turning regretfully back towards Snape's suspended figure, his wand lifted to undo the spell that held him prisoner when suddenly he smirked evilly back towards the werewolf.

"Just one last shot to win those fifty galleons and I'll let him go. "

Remus opened his mouth to protest but James' arm was in and out of his pocket in a flash, the green ball of stick sap was pulled back and a blur of red flew past, knocking both Remus and Peter into the wall. The balloon was released before Sirius' eyes had time to do more than widen.

It flew through the fifteen meters of air with deadly accuracy before exploding in a faint hiss on the face of the petite red-head girl who had stood determinedly in its path..

The entire corridor was silent. Then the newcomer broke the spell, lifting a white hand to wipe the murky green stickiness from her eyes and away from her cheeks that were flushed red with anger. She flicked her fingers impatiently trying to remove the sap before turning to glare at the four boy's with the ferocity of a tiger. Finally she forced out through tightly gritted teeth, eyeing James in particular with a look of deepest loathing.

"Do you really have nothing better to do with your time. "

The question was rhetorical; they all knew it but nothing annoyed James more than being made to feel inferior and contemptuous way the girl was curling her lip at him, HIM, pissed him off no end. The disgust on her face made his stomach seem to clench, his tall figure seemed to shrink until he was only an inch tall and to his fury the blood pooled in his lean cheeks bringing the faintest of flushes to them. Her obvious loathing was something he wasn't used to, not from a girl anyway and it made him uncomfortable, uneasy, almost like a kid being caught doing something wrong.

The anger clouded his mind, so much so that he missed the way his friend was suddenly rigid and pale as he stared with clenched fists at the interfering little red-head. Who was this tart who actually thought she could tell him what to do? The little bitch obviously didn't know who she was dealing with.

The flushed and furious school idol folded him arms with studied nonchalance, forcing his trademark smirk onto his face despite the murderous fire dancing in his eyes. This smirk was one of his favourites; mocking, inviting, tempting and insulting all at once, it had an inimitable way of bringing a blush to even the coolest of damsels . Sure enough, this carrot-topped fireball was nothing different.

"Oh I have hundreds of better things to do with my time babe, but I tend to like my girls more wet and less sticky. "

The girls eyes seemed to burst into flames, the look in those emeralds said quite clearly she wanted nothing more than to slowly disembowel the boy in front of her and feed his manhood to the giant squid. James couldn't help it; he took a pace back, before snarling inwardly at the sign of weakness.

"Perfect. " the girl retorted icily. " I like guys who aren't spineless enough to pick on people four to one. Obviously they put you in the wrong house Potter. "

James' jaw clenched but his lips returned to that dangerously beautiful smile almost immediately, his voice soft and disarmingly silky as he answered.

"What do you know Evans; I was going to say that green suits you unbelievably well. You and that greasy git really are the perfect match; why don't you run along and have a bath together. " He sniggered cruelly looked the pair up and down with obvious superiority. "Merlin knows you need it. "

Lily curled her at him, her voice filled with the deepest contempt.

"And you're pathetic Potter. The only time you're probably in the bathroom is to visit your own reflection. "

The boy simply grinned disarmingly, his handsome smirk taunting her and mocking the weakness of her response. She eyed him coldly before suddenly turning her glare to the pale tawny haired boy standing nervously to the back.

"And for God's sake Remus you're a prefect. How could you just…stand there? You're better than that. A better person that this narcissistic bullying toerag. "

James scoffed and rolled his eyes, freeing the blushing werewolf from his predicament. He smirked down into her slime-covered face, openly and obviously condescending.

"Get over yourself Evans. No one here gives a damn about your opinion, so just go back to that pathetic little thing you call a life and leave the mouthing off for someone who actually cares.

The words struck a nerve, just as he had meant them to. Peter guffawed as her face turned red in humiliation and her fists clenched trying to fight back the desire to slap that mocking smirk right off his face. He was not better than her; she would NOT lower herself to his level. He was just a spoilt brat who thought that good looks and talent meant that the rest of world existed simply to lick his boots. He was nothing but a bully, cruel and arrogant as Malfoy himself and not even worthy of her time or anger.

The boy beside him still stood as motionless as a Grecian statue. She could feel his gaze scorching her already red face but her pride would not let her look at him. She didn't want to see the apology in those forget-me-not eyes, or worse the absence of it. She didn't want to hate the boy she suddenly met for the first time ever, the true Sirius Black, the one no one but his friends ever saw.

In a few short hours, one brief conversation, she had found in the school heartthrob and heartbreaker a person that already she wanted to know better, to understand and be close to. He was a mystery she wanted to unravel. A lost boy that she for some reason, dearly wanted to find. Something in the way he had clung to her so tightly, pouring so much pain onto her soaked shirt had made her want so badly to protect him from whatever it was that had caused this lingering agony that was always repressed and locked away. She didn't want him to see the accusation and hurt in her own eyes, the disappointment she knew he would find, because it wasn't fair; she couldn't expect him to suddenly change overnight.

To see him torturing Sev so cruelly, it had number her to the core despite the fact that it shouldn't have. The Marauders as they called themselves, had always hated any Slytherin and Sev, however much she hated to say it, bookworm, poor and unpopular as he was, made a ridiculously easy target. Every time they met wands were drawn and she had detested the foursome because of it. Peter for his obvious relish of someone else being the weak one for once, Remus for his cowardice in never telling his friends how disgusting their behaviour really was. And James Potter; Lily hated the arrogant womanising leader of the stupid pack most of all.

She'd hated Sirius too but it hadn't quite been the same. She'd been too in awe of his courage, the strength it must have taken to stand against such a tsunami of opposition in regards to his stance on muggle and muggle-born rights, to produce the same level of antipathy she felt for Potter. She detested his bullying ways certainly but Lily could never quite push aside the admiration she grudgingly felt for the school enigma nor the empathy of his loneliness.

To have her parents taken from her had nearly killed her, but to turn one's back on everything you had ever know, to willingly lose one's family to stand up for one's beliefs, it was something that she still couldn't quite comprehend. Surely it would be so much easier to just give in. After all what was one voice out of thousands going to change. One martyr ready to sacrifice his place in the world to fight for those who couldn't.

But it had only needed one person to change her. One person to stop her giving up against the ridiculous odds and inspire her to prove to the world that he was right. She did deserve this, as much as any other filthy rich pureblood who thought himself better than the world and his mate.

So Lily didn't look at him, didn't force him to make a choice between old and new allegiances. She wouldn't win anyway. For the briefest of moments a surge of jealousy surprised her at the thought that he had chosen Potter, the most arrogant bastard in the school, to be his brother in all but blood. It was stupid and childish but already she felt the hint of possessiveness towards her new…for Merlin's sake they were barely even friends yet. Lily laughed inwardly and sighed before looking Potter straight in his annoyingly pretty eyes.

"Take the spell off him Potter and get lost. Save YOUR showing off for someone who's easily impressed. "

The arsehole opened his mouth, probably to tell her where to shove it when suddenly Remus' low voice cut through the tension like a knife.

"Come on James. This is time much better spent practising remember. "

James hesitated staring down in the girl's defiant emerald eyes. Then he finally threw a quick grin at his friend, raising a mocking eyebrow.

"NOW you want us to practise? " he joked, mock impatience pulling his lips downward in a pout but he shrugged and flicked his wand with a nonchalant hand. Lily let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding as Severus fell heavily to the floor. She ran to him, helping him to his feet and James found himself glaring as she fussed and patted down his uniform. His lip curled in something that was originally meant to be disgust before pulling himself together and turning to the other Marauders with an arrogant sneer.

"Come on guys, lets leave the love-birds to clean themselves up. Though looking at that greasy head Evans might be there a while. " Lily shot him glare but didn't answer, gritting her teeth and staring determinedly at the floor wanting him only to GO.

Remus and Peter obediently turned and fell into step behind as James sauntered down the corridor as though he owned it, Remus with only a last apologetic look back that made Lily shake her head in disappointment.

She turned back to Severus, who was retrieving his wand from where it had been blasted too and was desperately trying to avoid looking her in the eye. Lily hesitated before starting sadly

"Sev, I… "

He cut her off with a vigorous shake of the head, still staring furiously at the stone floor. Hurt at his refusal to talk to her made her bite her lip, but she swallowed the pain and simply passed him his bag that he'd forgotten in the Library where they'd been studying. He took it without a word, slinging it over his scrawny shoulder whilst trying desperately to wipe the remains of the Stinksap off his face with the other pale hand. Realising it was futile, he gave up and muttered finally

"I'm gonna go and get cleaned up. I…I'll see you later. "

Lily put out a hand to stop him but he was already scuttling down the corridor as if the hounds of hell were after him. Lily's copper curls fell over her eyes as her chin dropped to her chest, hiding from the hurt and the guilt and confusion.

He'd been pushing her away from some time now, since the middle of fourth year to be precise. It had only been tiny things at first; a sudden tension when she'd hugged him at Christmas, a new habit he had of staring at her when his mind wandered. Then he'd started spending more and more time with his so-called friends. The ones who would like nothing better to see her dead and who treated her almost as badly as Potter and his gang treated him. He wouldn't meet her eyes after that, and shut up like a clam when she'd carefully asked him whether he was mad about something. He'd looked horrified and had hastened to reassure her but the feeling was still there, the vague but ever growing certainty that he was hiding something from her. He wasn't the kind of person you could chase after; when backed into a corner he would simply shut down and cut himself off completely. Like he had done just now.

* * *

She didn't know how long she'd been standing there when suddenly a movement in the shadow made her jump and drew her wand in alarm.

His tall toned body pushed away from the wall in a single fluid movement, stepping into the blaze of sunlight so that his ebony locks shone almost blue. Blue as those eyes that stared into hers, filled with too many emotions to count. Lily stared back, she hadn't noticed his continued presence; she thought he'd left with the others. She looked at him doubtfully, at a loss whether to be angry or sad or simply not to mention what had happened at all. Where were they, WHAT were they? Sure she was the only female he'd ever spent time with outside a broom closet that she could remember, but what did that mean? That she could lecture him on what he could and couldn't do? Judge him? The uncertainty made her fiddle, a white finger coming unconsciously to twirl one wayward scarlet curl nervously when suddenly he broke the uncomfortable silence with the last words she could ever expect.

"Do you hate me? "

Whatever she had been unconsciously waiting for it wasn't that. Lily felt her mouth drop to the floor and hastily shut it in fleeting embarrassment, but the emotion was overridden by the simply overwhelming SHOCK. The words had been emotionless, empty of any kind of feeling and those flawless features were carefully neutral. He simply looked at her and when she didn't respond he continued in the same tone.

"You should. "

The shock was lessening now and in it's absence it was as if the list was fading and things were becoming clearer. The tightness of the boy's jaw, the deliberate hardness of his eyes. He was nervous, however well he hid it, like a little boy who has done wrong and is secretly scared about his punishment but is trying his very hardest to show he doesn't care.

Like… Lily winced inwardly. Yes, that was who he reminded her of. Andy. Before the car-crash. It pulled at something in her heart, some rush of warmth that washed away the anger and disappointment and it made her raise her brows and shrug her smalls shoulders with studied nonchalance.

"Well if you really want me too. "

For a moment the words didn't seem to sink in. Only when she allowed the rueful grin to finally escape and spread over her features did Sirius give in to the bemusement that was pulling his jaw down to the floor. He stared at her as though she'd grown a third arm, or was wondering if she was quite sane. Sure enough he tilted his handsome head to the side, surveying her as one would study a rare species before saying in a voice filled with great concern

"You really are not…normal…are you? »

It was her turn to gape at him, disbelief and then pure indignation sparking in those emerald eyes and it pulled his lips upwards into the beginnings of a smile.

"I…you are a prat, and an arrogant bullying one at that. " she added dryly, frowning at him darkly.

The laughter vanished. The tension returned in a rush as they simply looked at each other and waited. His face was serious and carefully blank once more before finally opening his mouth to say quietly

"Maybe if there was someone to be a good influence… " the hesitation in those low velvet tones was strangely endearing. "Correct the many faults in my character. "

There was a hint of laughter in his eyes now, the dimple quivered in his cheek, threatening to escape and dance to the same music. Lily raised an eyebrow, unmoved and unimpressed, at least outwardly. Because the git clearly had the gift of being obnoxiously adorable and charming when he needed to, and obviously used both traits unscrupulously to get out of trouble. Why else would she have the sudden almost overwhelming desire to pat him on the head like a cute little puppy. Smarmy git.

"Somehow I feel that if Remus hasn't been able to correct those faults in just over four years, there isn't much hope of my doing so. " Lily retorted with rueful amusement.

The dimple was let loose as was the disarming grin that made her heart almost melt. His expression was one of pure unadulterated mischief and laughter shook in his voice as he threw back promptly.

"Ah but Remus never gave me the right incentive to acquire any basic morals. " he glinted at her wickedly, before continuing almost as an afterthought.

"Besides, Remus loves me just the way I am. " he stated proudly, with the air of one triumphantly throwing down a trump card. It was too much for her gravity and Lily gave in to giggles, her auburn curls flying as she shook her head in half-hearted disbelief. Then suddenly her own face lit up in wicked delight, at how his words could be taken in another sense.

"Just wait until I tell the Hogwarts population that two of their idols are actually batting for the other team! " she crowed gleefully as Sirius' grin was wiped off his face.

For a split-second, his face darkened into an ugly sneer and Lily was abruptly serious, waiting cautiously for his reaction. Had she pushed him too far? She wondered nervously. Any other girl in the school would have been hexed to Antarctica for so blatantly mocking the school idol. The faint sneer that curled his lip seemed to indicate that it was indeed too much too soon and Lily's apology was already on her lips when just as suddenly Sirius relaxed.

The madness seeped away, the tension leaving his jaw and his fists and he shook his shaggy head at her. Lily watched him dubiously, still worried at the fit of temper she'd almost brought out of him. He took a deep breath that seemed to shudder in his broad chest and eventually opened his tanzanite eyes only to roll them elegantly at her.

"Do it; you die Evans. " Then he added thoughtfully "Or should I say, Snivellous does. "

Lily frowned at the taunting way he was lifting his eyebrow at her, challenging her for her reaction but she didn't rise to the obvious bait. Instead she simply shrugged and smiled sweetly back.

"Touch one hair of his head, " she began, ignoring Sirius' disgusted snort of "As if I would. "

"And I'll just have to inform Professor McGonagall that it was your little friend who charmed the suits of armour to say "Here kitty kitty kitty… " Every time she walked past. " she finished with an evil grin.

Sirius eyed the diminutive red-head darkly, irritation battling with a grudging new-found respect.

"You know full well that wasn't him. "

Lily's smile was brighter than the morning sunshine as she answered cheerfully,

"I do. But McGonagall doesn't. "

The tall boy's brown creased for a moment at the girl's sheer duplicity before finally his sense of the ridiculous chased away the tension. He gave a gravely shout of laughter, acknowledging the hit with an appreciative smirk and offered

"How about this; I loathe your friend, you hate mine. I promise to lay off Sniv…SNAPE a little, and you promise to avoid deliberately aggravating my rather choleric best mate, thereby not putting me in the position of having to save you from one if his numerous and decidedly painful hexes. Sound good? "

Lily tilted her head to the side considering, her scarlet curls falling gently into her eyes. Sirius felt his lips tug upwards in amusement. No other chick in the school would think twice about accepting any offer he put on the table. Evans…Lily…she really was something special. His smirk widened as she finally nodded in acceptance that she wouldn't get a better deal than the one she was being offered. Not even for this girl whose approval suddenly meant everything to him, would he start being buddy-buddy with the slimy Slytherin, but she wasn't fool enough to expect him to. Nor, Sirius sighed inwardly, was she weak enough to simply bow down to his slightly big-headed friend who unconsciously expected the adoration he invariably received wherever he went. He eyed her appraisingly tinged with admiration.

But even so, maybe they could make this work.

She seemed to read the debate written all over his handsome face and as if in reply smiled the brightest sunniest smile he'd ever seen. The same warmth from the night before made his heart of stone almost feel real, and an unexpected passer by would have been astounded to see the soft glow of affection that emanated from his perfect features as he simply looked into the girl's piquant face.

It was a quiet moment. Not life-changing like the night before, nor heartbreaking as the one that was to come, but a small sweet moment. One not to be flaunted or maybe even remembered very clearly. Just a small sigh of relief from life's struggles. A moment of understanding between two people whose friendship should have never really been but now that it was, now that they'd made it so, maybe, just maybe could be something incredible.

* * *

**It's quite a strange little scene really, but I liked it mainly because it gives a little glimpse into what the young Marauder's were like before the huge uproar that is « All Over Again. » Plus it was fun to see James hating Lily and Lily hating James, not because they still love each other, but simply because he's a git and she hates players and two people so different can only ever really love or hate each other. **

**But tell me what you thought of it, or maybe didn't like it, or want to know more or anything really. You know I rub my hands with gleeful avarice over each and every new review I receive. So pretty please, make my day ;)**

**Oh and before I go I'll say it once more; I am officially now ON HOLIDAY and hope to finish Chapter 21 some time in the coming week! So look out for it! **

**As always, I luv y'all lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and well…you get the picture ;)**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey there**

**This is a one-shot written by request about James and Lily's earlier interactions; why she hated him, when he began to like her, ect… Won't say any more since it almost three in the morning an I really must sleep lol**

**Luv y'all loads!**

**Lili**

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

* * *

He wasn't quite sure when he'd first noticed she was pretty.

Redheads had never really been his thing; the freckles that usually covered the girl from head to toe seemed more like endless splatters of ketchup to him than anything else and blondes were just much more easier to come by. Interchangeable. Plus they usually had bigger tits.

Evans herself had NEVER been his thing. Braces painted green to match her fluorescent eyes were a serious turn off for even the horniest of young males. Add in the ginger hair, huge, seriously MEAN mouth and way too big a brain for her own good, and the girl was nothing more than a waste of space in the school's female population.

Lily Evans was the total sum of every physical and character trait he hated in a chick. Completely and utterly unshaggagable. And therefore unworthy of even his attention.

* * *

Lily remembered perfectly the day she decided James Potter was a waste of finite resources. Clean drinking water, food and even oxygen could have been much better spent saving some poor starving orphan out in Africa, instead of keeping the arrogant, over-bearing spoilt brat alive and healthy.

It was of course entirely coincidental that the day Lily Evans first decided she hated the school idol, was also the day he smiled at her. Not the heart-stopping trademark smirk he unleashed so often on the poor unsuspecting girls who followed his every move with their goggling eyes. Oh no. THAT she could have dealt with. THAT she could have raised an eyebrow at with perfect composure and could have carried on her daily life as planned. But could he be obliging? Could he make just a tiny effort to live up to even her ridiculously low expectations? No. Instead, he had to smile.

And what a smile…

A real wide, winning grin of mischief that somehow shook the foundations of her thickest walls around her heart and made her breath treacherously catch in her throat.

Because James Potter wasn't supposed to smile like that. Wasn't supposed to be anything other than smarmy and lecherous and obnoxiously charming when he wanted his own way and he certainly wasn't supposed to have what could only be called a devastatingly pretty smile. Everything else about Potter was pretty. His eyes, his hair, his skin; they were ALL lovely and perfect and she acknowledged all that with a mature adult composure she was rightfully proud of. Pretty boy he definitely was. Didn't make him any less hateful.

She hadn't counted on his smile.

* * *

He remembered when she'd first sparked his curiosity. Merlin he would never forget THAT day. The embarrassment would still make him cringe inwardly at the memory for years after. He, James Potter, had lost a Quidditch Match. Or rather had been absent from said match, leading to Gryffindor's first defeat since he'd joined the team a year ago. And it was all because of Macey Grey. Blonde snivelling wimp that she was.

James Potter was on the rampage, swearing to the entire school that the brainless bimbo who thought that spiking his pumpkin juice with some obviously dubious "Felix Felicious » was going to pay for causing boils to cover the school Quidditch star from head to toe. The Marauder's had been planning the prank all day and all night, the nastiest one the foursome had thought up so far. The dumb, deluded Hufflepuff was going down, pigtails and all.

The boys had sent the blonde a letter, supposedly from a friend, telling her to meet in the Transfiguration Classroom during Lunch Hour, which was coincidently her next class. The boy's waited outside under the cloak until the girl came, hair pulled up into a bun under her hat, and cloak wrapped tightly around her against the cold, and walked unsuspectingly into the empty classroom. The Marauder's had smirked with evil relish as the screams had rang out load and shrill, until Macey classmates had arrived for the lesson. The expressions of shock had been priceless and the boy's had carefully snuck inside to admire the results of their handiwork.

Sure enough, in the centre of the room, the girl's feet were stuck to the floor, preventing her from moving as four buckets of red, green, yellow and blue slime, emptied and re-filled on top of her. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws laughed and giggled until finally the spell stopped seconds before the bell rang. The buckets disappeared, all the slime apart from that which had covered the victim had vanished too until only the girl stood there soaked and multi-coloured from head to toe.

It was only when she'd finally drawn out her wand and scourgified the gunk, did the bright red hair and green eyes indicate that this was not Macey Grey.

Lily Evans had marched from the room in silence, ignoring the giggles and catcalling after, with her nose in the air as if nothing had happened. But that hadn't been what had shocked him.

The first time James Potter had really, really looked at bookworm, Slytherin-loving Lily Evans had been that evening in the Common Room when she'd marched up to him and asked that he count Macey's dept paid.

James had goggled at her, but she'd held his gaze earnestly.

"A Slytherin blackmailed her to put that potion in your glass. She was too scared to refuse. "

"You knew about the prank? » James stared baffled by the possibility. "And you went in there anyway. »

Evans hadn't flinched. Instead, the smuggest little grin had pulled up the corners of her mouth as she shrugged innocently.

"You're not the only good eves-dropper in the school Potter. » Her face became instantly more solemn.

"Besides, she didn't deserve it. »

And then she'd walked away, without another word and James had stared dumbly after her, mouth still hanging open and wondering vaguely how he'd ever thought she didn't belong in Gryffindor.

Yeah, that was the day she'd stumped and confused him. But that had been all. And it sure as hell didn't mean she was pretty.

* * *

It was ten o-clocks at night and she and the girls were reading one of Jenny's trashy magazines. The school's biggest flirt was reading aloud yet another of the silly quizzes that analysed you and your poor excuse for a love life to determine your personality. The questions would change magically for each person to avoid cheating of any kind and seemed to fit the girl in question with almost spooky accuracy. It could have made them take the results a little more seriously. It could have made them pause to wonder about the future. But of course right then, it only made the four teenagers laugh like tomorrow would never come.

Alice had already been declared a lover by nature, who would find her soul-mate and live happily ever after. The girls had giggled until their eyes had wept as fourteen year old girls always do when confronted with the foolish notion of Prince Charmings and Lifetime Loves. It had been Emily's turn next and she'd scoffed at being dubbed a rainbow chaser. So what if she wanted perfection and so what if that perfect man she'd described surely had to exist only in books and dreams. A girl was allowed to be picky.

And then it was Lily's turn, her laughing protest summarily ignored by the other three as Jenny began to bludgeon her with question after question. Most were easy; some were merely silly, but a select few had her pause and bite her lip in thoughtful concentration, her eyes vaguely wandering over the almost empty common room as she gathered her thoughts. The Marauders as they called themselves were too close for her comfort, joking and showing off as always on the opposite couch and the sound of one particularly arrogant growl of laughter grated on her nerves more than all the rest. But ignoring them was second nature by now, and the foursome didn't hold her interest.

It was the very last question, and years later she would still remember it perfectly. Jenny's eyes widened as her tongue stumbled for the first time that night over the words. The room seemed to quieten. Maybe it was her imagination but it seemed like the four heads across the fireplace from them froze rigid, even though not a single one turned. It was enough to make her eyes rest there as she puzzled over an answer. Green eyes stared into black hair she didn't really see as the syllables rolled slowly off her tongue, deliberately and honestly and weighing every word.

"No. If I really loved him. If he really was the one, I wouldn't care if he was werewolf. "

Jenny may or may not have breathed a sigh, Lily couldn't really recall. What she did remember was that mop of shaggy black hair being tossed away as the owner turned his head. She remembered blinking out of her daze, a faint blush colouring her cheeks as those annoying pretty eyes locked with hers for once empty of all arrogance or derision. She'd waited, prepared for the smirk or the mocking curl of the lip he so often threw her, prepared for the superiority on his face to spark her temper and clench her jaw in reaction.

But she wasn't prepared for his smile.

* * *

The day he'd never forget, was the one he knew he really, really didn't like her. And would never ever like her even if his life, soul and capacity to father children all depended on it.

It was a rubbish day anyway. The weather was foul, Slytherins were foul and therefore James Potter's mood was also foul. Basically the match had been cancelled. McGonagall had apparently forgotten what the House of Gryffindor stood for and had declared to the school that in light of the snowstorm outside the upcoming match was to be cancelled until further notice. For SNOW. His win and his victory party were being put on hold because of bloody frozen water.

James was not happy.

The common room was almost empty as he slammed the portrait hole shut behind him with enough force to make the Fat Lady topple onto her large behind. Jenny looked up sympathetically as he stomped past on his way up to the staircase before turning back to priss-pot Evans as soon as she thought he was out of earshot.

"So, come on Lily, be honest with me, » James' fist was on the handle to his dorm when the next words made him pause in reluctant curiosity.

"Which would you rather kiss? SEV… "James almost smirked at the unconcealed dislike in his cousin's tone.

"OR my dastardly cousin? »

He didn't really care. Obviously he didn't. He knew what the answer was going to be before she said it, the smirk curling his lips as he thought of somebody lip-locking the Slytherin, fingers sticking in his greasy hair. But for some stupid reason he waited. Just to be sure. Be certain. Not that he wasn't already of course and not that it really mattered anyway. But just…to hear her say it.

Then there came a snort.

"Easy question; Severus, a thousand times over. At least I know where his mouth HASN'T been. "

Red spots ignited before James' eyes. The door slammed behind him, this time hard enough for the walls to shake.

Later that day, Severus Snape was landed in the hospital wing with seven broken bones, green skin and lips bigger than frankfurter sausages.

From that day, Lily Evans was a stuck up, prissy little bitch who deserved to drown in grease and also became the girl he hated more than anyone else in the school put together. No way in hell would he ever admit she looked a little more decent without those damned braces. Pretty? Sure. Pretty as the giant fucking squid!

* * *

It wasn't in THAT precise moment that she knew.

In that moment as his eyes lit up in approval and his annoyingly soft lips pulled gently upwards, all she could think about was how perfect a smile could be. She couldn't remember his arrogance or his bullying and indiscriminate cruelty. She couldn't remember the hearts he'd broken and the couples he'd torn apart. She couldn't remember why she'd disliked him so strongly for so long because that single smile put every other smile she'd ever seen to shame.

All her past crushes, her two boyfriends', no other smile could compare to the one that made James Potter's face glow like a morning sunrise.

Realisation came ten seconds later.

It was precisely ten seconds later that she knew she hated him. She remembered it down to the second because at that moment James Potter turned his face and his smile away to suddenly wink devilishly at Mary McDonald. The smile was gone and it was as though a light had gone out.

Right then, Lily Evans knew that she would never hate anything in the world more than she would hate James Potter.

* * *

He was pretty sure he remembered the day he'd realised she wasn't ugly. It had been a day full of surprises that one, he could recall ruefully. After all, it's not every day you find out your "woman-hating, only-good-for-shagging-and-giving -head " best mate in the world, decides he's going to invite the one girl in the world you also hate, to your bloody birthday party.

It was the 27th of March, a typical wet rainy day and James had been in a bad mood. His latest fling had decided she wanted him to declare their relationship openly. That of course was not going to happen. His two other "girlfriends " would have both blown a fuse if they'd found out that the words "his one and only " weren't supposed to actually be taken literally. So he'd had to dumb her, and as she was the best shag his now sixteen year old self had had so far, it made for a rather shitty birthday present.

So to take his mind of that slight annoyance, James had spent the last few hours wandering anywhere but the Gryffindor Common Room. A grin tugged at his lips, his "Surprise " Party was due to start in roughly three hours time, not that he was supposed to know. Just like he wasn't supposed to know that Pete was in the Kitchens giving orders to the House-elves on the food, Remus was setting up decorations with the boy's fan clubs in the Common Room and Sirius was somewhere around the castle inviting their usual crowd. James' only job for the day was to look shocked and Remus and Sirius wouldn't be fooled anyway.

The thought of his best mate's ironic smirk brought answering smile to his own face. Nah, Sirius would know by now that James knew almost every detail of what was being planned and was therefore exerting his massive IQ to imagine some ingenious last-minute surprises that would catch his friend off-guard. James' hazel eyes gleamed at the yearly challenge. Bring it on mate. He James Potter would NEVER be surprised.

Sure enough at ten thirty precisely Remus found him on the Quidditch Pitch with an excuse to accompany him back to the castle. James had played along, smiling innocently at his friend who was eyeing him with heavy suspicion all over his pale features. The secret passages made the trip back to Gryffindor Tower take barely ten minutes and when they arrived in front of the winking Fat Lady, James obliged by climbing first through the Portrait hole. And right on cue, the word "SURPRISE!" was screamed louder than a herd of elephants.

The party had been one of the biggest social events of the year. Everybody who was anybody was piled into the round room, all lined up to throw themselves onto his chest or shake his hand. The team was there, Jenny's already impressive curves encased in a scarlet, skin-tight dress with obnoxious little Jamie grinning appreciatively at her side. His role-model Jason Wood lounged nearby, the shiny Captain's badge glinted on the Seventh Year muscled chest. Amanda looked highly desirable in a pretty powder blue strappy number, her sleek blonde hair impeccably placed in an elegant twirl on the top of her head and Nathan completed the Chaser's trio with his spiky hair that was almost as unruly as James' own.

Mick and the other guys were there too, along with the thirty or so acceptable member's of the newly created Marauder fan-clubs. The Weasley twins Fabien and Gideon were already downing fire whiskey in the corner, passing out the goblets with sly grins to Frank and his fellow sixth years. James laughed inwardly as Frank grinned and shook his head. Wise move mate.

Finally his fellow Marauders stood proudly at the end of the line, waiting deliberately until the music had resumed and the guest had returned to either drinking or dancing. Peter looked almost bug-eyed with his eyes round with excitement and his grin stretching from sticking-out-ear to sticking-out-ear. Remus was calm and collected as ever as he clapped the birthday boy on the back with a knowing smile.

As for Sirius, well, his brother had honoured the occasion with a handsome grin that had many girls swooning from the sidelines, violet eyes glowing with wicked amusement as he lounged gracefully forward, flicking his hair arrogantly away from his face as he did so. James' eyes narrowed. There was smugness on those three faces; a LOT of it.

"Happy Birthday. "

That was it. A brown hand disappeared into Sirius' pocket and returned grasping a wrapped gift that could only be ten square centimetres in size. James took it with a suspicious grin, one eyebrow lifting questioningly as the package weighed almost nothing in his hand.

"Why do I have the feeling this is an "I O U a present " or something equally not funny. "

The three boys grins widened but they said nothing, nodding their heads wickedly for James to open the wrapping. He did so, gaze flicking from one innocent face to the other, trying to catch someone off-guard. Nothing.

The last of the paper fell away, flying snitch and broomstick dropping forgotten to the floor as James' fingers suddenly trembled on the thick bundle of folded parchment in his hand.

"You are kidding me… "

James mouth was half-open in disbelief but Peter, Remus and Sirius still simply grinned manically back at him as he stumbled to unfold the parchment and feast his eyes wonderingly upon it.

"You finished it… "

The words were almost gasped. James simply stared in stunned amazement as the Map spread out before him. Every name was there, every charm complete. After working on it for almost an entire year, it was finally finished; he was holding it in his shaking fingertips.

The Marauder's Map.

Remus spoke first, amber eyes sparkling in triumph.

"We didn't want you to know how close I was to finishing the last charm. Sirius swore that this year we would finally get a look of actual surprise on your smug face. "

James was still speechless as he touched the treasure in his hands like it was made of gold and Sirius' smirk couldn't be any smugger as the dimple danced wickedly in that lean cheek. Then finally James managed to stammer

"You did it. You really did it. "

Remus shook his head and glanced proudly at the other two.

"Nah. WE did it. "

The night had been going so well. Peter and Remus had been dragged off to dance, the first eagerly, the other with resignation. Only Sirius remained at his side as James examined the Map in minute detail, questions and expression of amazement carrying over the deafening music every now and then.

"Dammit, you can follow Filch's every bloody move. We'll never be caught out of bed again. "

James peered closer, ignoring the urge to rub his eyes and push the unfamiliar contacts into the back of his head. He'd only started wearing them a month ago, giving in to Jenifer Backbones pleading to at least TRY them. What was it with girls and his eyes.

In was as this question was passing through his brain that one particular name suddenly leaped out at him from the parchment. Lily Evans. Here. In his Common Room. At HIS party. What the…?

James spun round to Sirius, eyes already snapping furiously.

"Who the hell invited Evans? !" he demanded through gritted teeth

Sirius met his friends pissed off gaze with an expression that could have frozen lava.

"I did. "

The words didn't seem to register. James could only stare as Sirius matched him look for look, his eyes bright but firm and unembarrassed, his posture as infuriatingly nonchalant as ever. Long tapered fingers held the goblet of spiked fire-whiskey in a graceful yet loose grip, his gaze clear as a bell despite the fact that this was far from his first. James gaped as that theory went out the window. Sirius was NOT completely sloshed or out of his head.

Happily for the continuation of the party, James' wicked sense of humour suddenly took over, saving the moment. He burst out into a shout of throaty, evil laughter, looking round the room eagerly for the hardly missable copper curls.

"You managed to get Evans to a party. Now this mate, I gotta see. "

Sirius' brows lowered but he repressed the acid comment, debating internally whether to find Lily and warn her that she'd been found out. It was really his fault after all. He'd been the one who'd asked her to come, coaxing and blackmailing alternatively until finally the promise of taking her to see the kitchens made her cave. Sirius still wasn't quite sure why he'd pushed the point so hard. He knew that James detested Lily, knew that there was a strong likelihood of this ending in another roaring blaze of tempers the two were famous for.

But she'd been down the past through days, something about her brother Andy who had been hit by a drunk driver when she was still quite young, around this time of year. He'd wanted badly to see that smile again, the one that lit up the room and almost made him feel human again. It was selfish, he knew that too. But he needed that smile so badly.

And she'd agreed, eventually. Though seeing the malicious glint in his friend's eye as he smirked around the room, this could be another of those times when following his instinct was not going to pay off. But in that brief moment it had taken to wonder this, James was already gone.

Slipping through the writhing teenagers on the dance floor took time and effort. Every oestrogen filled female seemed to pounce as he tried to sidle past her, pressing her body parts to his chest in a highly distracting way that seriously hindered his progress across the room. And then, right when he was considering saying "What the hell " to Evan's change character and persuading the leggy blonde sixth year to accompany him upstairs to see his birthday broomstick, he saw her.

It was the dress that did it, his subconscious was already declaring defensively. ANYONE could look good in that dress, even the school priss. Look, it pointed out arrogantly; the almost transparent white gossamer that flowed down to just above the knees was deliberately eye-catching and hormone-awakening. Just as the delicate high heels were an outright invitation to admire those long creamy legs. An outfit like that could turn the ugliest frump in Hogwarts into an angel and tonight it had quite simply done it's job. A little too well. It wasn't HER. It was the damned DRESS.

Unfortunately, whatever excuses his brain valiantly came up with, the fact remained that right there, right then, nobody in their right mind could call Lily Evans ugly. And hating said Lily Evans as he did, that was a serious, serious problem.

But she was NOT pretty.

* * *

It was cruel and unfair and unsporting she lashed inwardly and silently, as Mary moved to his lap.

No one should be allowed THAT smile.

Not Mary, or Taylor or Jennifer, Amanda or any other girl.

Nobody but her.

The one person who could never have it.

* * *

In later years, he'd laugh about how long it finally took him to admit the truth. The Marauders would mock him for his blindness and force him to choke out the words and the obvious fact he'd so long denied.

Even the day he'd accepted Dale's stupid bet, he'd stubbornly declared her a carrot-topped dwarf to his inner conscious. She had grown up a bit, over the years, her braces were long gone and ok, no one could argue that her tits were pretty perky for C-sized goodies on such a tiny frame.

She wasn't an eyesore fine, but actually pretty? Nah, not on his watch.

* * *

So all she could do was hate him for showing it to her. Hated him for flaunting it. Hated him for having this one more perfect thing that put all his other perfections to shame.

Disliking him wasn't enough. She knew she had to hate him, hate him so much that that smile would never again reappear to taunt her. So with fierce determination and resolve, she did exactly that.

Because she really did love that smile.

Thinking back, he really didn't know when she'd first caught his eye and quickened his pulse. But, if he really thought about it, there was that one blinding moment when he actually realised how God damn pretty Lily Evans really was.

It was the July the thirty-first and he was just wrapping up stage two of the plan. The tolerating part was over, she enjoyed seeing him when he turned up at her work unannounced. That day, he'd strolled into Flourish and Blott's round two-thirty, glancing round casually for her burnished curls. She was standing up a ladder, replacing a dusty manual up on the top shelf, left leg lifted for balance, right arm stretched as far as it would go as she wobbled precariously on her toes.

It had been the most cliché, cheesiest thing James Potter had ever admitted to, but, when she fell, as fall of course she did, his muscled arms were already out to catch her.

Her mouth had been open in shock and pink was already colouring her cheeks as he lowered her slowly to the ground. There faces had been inches apart, so close he could count the thirteen freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose and the seven flecks of dark green in those emerald irises. They'd warmed with relief and laughter under his transfixed gaze and her lips had spread into the most adorable smile he'd ever seen.

She'd raised a laughing brow when he hadn't even moved to release her, a bubble of humour hovering on her lips. And Merlin help him, he remembered the words he'd breathed wonderingly over her creamy skin, almost in disbelief.

"Evans…you really are…pretty. "

Her cheeks had flushed bright red and his had almost done the same as he stepped back abruptly, kicking himself mentally for the most un-cool words he'd ever spoken. It had been her peal of laughter that had made him turn his head warily, and her mischievous grin that had kept it there.

"You are too…. " She'd twinkled up at him, and added sweetly

"When you smile. "

* * *

**Hope you liked! Please read and review and tell me! **

**Luv you!**

**Lili**

**xxxxxxxxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey there all! This is NOT obviously the next part of Chapter 22 which needs some serious replanning to fit in with, if I do say so myself a BRILLIANT new idea ;).**

**This is in fact a scene that was requested and one that most of you will probably recognise. It is in fact, the scene I do not in ANY way own, from JK Rowling's wonderful "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix ". I was asked to write this scene as to how it would fit with MY story and of course my writing style, characterisations, etc…and strangely enough the idea quite appealed to me. **

**What is important to note is that every dialogue is taken straight from the book just as every action mentioned in the book is also followed faithfully here. I am however aware that some of my readers might not find this to their taste, possibly because it may come across as a little arrogant to re-write a canon scene, possibly because the original scene is of course leagues better than mine could ever be. I ask everyone therefore to remember that this was written as a request and not a spur of the moment showing-off kind of thing. =S**

**Feel free not to read it; nothing will be mentioned here that will NOT be mentioned at some point in AOA. But thoughts, feelings and past events may be hinted at that have not yet been explored in the main story ;) I have to reward the people that WILL take the time to read and (hopefully) maybe even review this little one-shot. =D However, nothing major will be let slip though, that I do promise. ;)**

**Et voila! Now that the reasoning has been explained, I'll leave you to read in peace and PLEASE tell me what you think. =)**

**Luv ya all**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x**

* * *

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick. Sirius rolled his eyes and tilted the chair further back, trying to tune out the annoyingly repetitive sound that had been irritating his extra-ordinary hearing for the past three quarters of an hour. Ever since he'd finished the test in fact. Finished it, read it, re-read it, found nothing to correct in it and finally re-read it a third time simply out of boredom, all before half the designated time had lapsed. Sirius cricked his neck, still balancing perfectly on the chair's back legs, thick lashes brushing the skin beneath them as he frowned slightly in an almost unprecedented impatience.

On an usual day, Sirius Black could remain motionless for hours, his electrically acute mind blank and relaxed indeterminably. Patience was a lesser known example of the fifteen year old's many gifts; it was also one that very rarely let him down. But of course every rule has it's exception and fate apparently had chosen this day of all days to make the school Casanova restless.

This tension was due in large part to the fact that he hadn't had his fix. The boy's brows, black as his name, descended into a frown without opening his eyes. Three years and still it didn't stop. Three's years of a dependence that revolted him and a craving that set him spinning on waves of pleasure and adrenaline. And still the bitch laughed. Lips that were to perfect to be real curled up into an unpleasant sneer, a look of pure loathing as the deadly familiar need crept back and forth under his skin, taunting and torturing, an itch that begged to be scratched, a tension throbbing to be released.

But today was the Defence Against the Dark Art's exam and even Taylor Swift refused to sacrifice revision for a quickie in a broomcloset.

"Five more minutes! " the charm's teacher's shrill tones broke the heavy silence.

Sirius opened his eyes to survey the room coldly, searching for anything that would hold his attention. The quills scratched frantically as they slipped in sweaty hands. Heart-beats thudded at a hundred times a minute. Flitwick pumped his short little legs as he bustled back and forth amongst the aisles, black eyes darting from desk to desk trying to catch the one student fool enough to cheat. Almost every head was bent, even one particularly messy one two rows in front belonging to the one person capable of chasing away this angry restlessness.

The wayward locks stuck up at every angle, thick, shining and black as ink. From his viewpoint one brown hand was just visible on the other side of that lean torso, muscles not quite obscured by the robes flung carelessly back from broad shoulders. As Sirius watched, James sat up and stretched, biceps straining under rolled up sleeves as he yawned and began to re-read his paper; he'd probably finished it around the same time Sirius had, if not before. The only son of the Head of the Auror Department and his top field officer, James Potter outclassed most of the seventh years in Defence Against the Dark Arts. And probably every other subject on the curriculum for that matter.

Sirius smiled inwardly.

Rather like himself as it happened.

Almost in answer to his thoughts, his best mate let out an audible yawn and reached back to rumple his hair. A minute later James' sparkling eyes met his, lips curved wickedly upwards as he grinned over his shoulder at him. Restless, tense and out of humour as he was, Sirius couldn't help but grin back. The other boy's brows rose in a mocking question and, just as mocking, Sirius lifted his hand in a thumbs up, his smirk widening as James' eyes widened in exagerated surprise. Then, with a quick glance towards an approaching Flitwick, he turned back to the front with an innocent smile. Sirius felt the restlessness return and looked away.

One row behind him, Moony still printed line after line in that elegant, efficient handwriting of his. Sirius knew better than to try and catch his friend's eye; smart and methodical, the werewolf was completely focused on the page in front of him, pausing only to scratch his chin occasionally with his quill. The frown returned as Sirius' forget-me-not-blue gaze picked out the shadows under his friend's eyes, the pale, strained look on his face. There it was; the dark side of their monthly adventures, right there. The sad, frightening reminder of why and how the Marauder's as they were had come to be; all because of a suffering no human should ever have to live through, least of all one so ridiculously good as Remus Lupin.

Near the front Pete shuffled and squirmed in his seat, the nervousness pouring of him apparent even at this distance to canine nostrils. Poor old Wormy never seemed to be able to get it together on schoolwork, the fourth and final Marauder had almost peed his pants when they'd received their exams time tables and it looked like the same things risked happening now. Though for once he wasn't alone in this.

The sweet sticky scent of fear assaulted his senses to the point of almost suffocation; the first day of exams, before he'd gotten used to it, Sirius had almost thrown up from the sheer potency of the unmistakable odour rather like rotting fruit. Luckily the students had calmed down a little since then, allowing him and Moony to breath without passing out over their paper but still, it still lingered uncomfortably on the back of the throat. James and Wormtail had suffered too but, albeit ten times better than a normal human's, their sense of smell couldn't compare to wolf and dog's.

"Quills down please! " squeaked Professor Flitwick. "That means you too Stebbins! "

Stebbins grinned sheepishly before leaning forward to punch Mick smartly in the shoulder as the blond boy tutted in a distinctly McGonagall like manner, waggling his finger as he attempted to fight back the laughter. Davis threw him a wink and Sirius smirked haughtily back before

"Please remain seated while I collect your parchments! Accio! "

Over a hundred scrolls zoomed into the little man's outstretched arms with such force that the charms Professor was thrown off his feet. Laughter erupted as Flitwick's legs and arms waved wildly for help before finally Bug-eyed Backbone and Mary McDonald, both in the front row, helped him to his feet.

"Thank you…thank you, " he panted, slightly red with embarrassment "Very well everybody, you're free to go. ".

Sirius allowed his chair to fall back to the floor with a thud, gaze automatically going to James. His friend was scribbling hurriedly on a spare piece of parchment, before rising to his feet and stuffing the same parchment in his bag along with his quills and ink pot. Sirius did the same, albeit rather more leisurely, deliberately avoiding Taylor Swift's round, washed-out blue gaze that was fixed so pathetically on his back. Sirius snorted and pushed his hair our of his face. NOW the stupid Bitch felt like a fuck. In your dreams, slut.

Pointedly ignoring the blonde's expression of hopeful devotion Sirius rose gracefully to his feet, picked up his bag and sauntered over to where James stood waiting for him, familiar glint of mischief already dancing.

As they both turned to look for the other two members of their group, a flash of copper caught Sirius' eye, over Remus' shoulder, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. And, as though she felt his gaze upon her, Lily turned her head to give him a sweet, dazzling smile. He returned it, despite the unusual amount of effort it took, but it must have looked as half-hearted as it felt. She frowned slightly, curiosity in those emerald eyes but let it go, turning back to Blackwater and Dreamer with a peal of laughter just as Frank's girlfriend, Greycloud joined the small group.

Remus glanced over to see what his friend was looking at and flushed ever so slightly, ignoring the gleam of amusement in the black haired boy's eyes. Remus' baleful glare threatened a long, excruciatingly painful death if he so much as said a word and the dimple danced as Peter joined the foursome and the Marauders made their way out of the Great Hall. Sirius turned to Remus and opened his mouth with a deceptively innocent expression.

"Did you like question ten Moony? " the panic disappeared from the sandy haired boy's face as he rolled his eyes with a silent sigh of relief.

"Loved it. " he replied briskly, "Give five signs that identify the werewolf. Excellent question. "

"Do you think you managed to get all the signs? " ask James worriedly, biting his lip in tones of mock concern belied by that evil gleam of laughter that was ever fighting to break lose. Remus lifted his nose in the air and replied thoughtfully.

"Think I did, " as the foursome made their way to the front of the crowd of people all fighting to escape the Entrance Hall into the sunlight.

"One: he's sitting on my chair. Two: he's wearing my clothes. Three: his name's Remus Lupin. "

He turned back to the other as he spoke with one of those quick, unexpectedly wicked grins and James and Sirius laughed appreciatively. Wormtail on the other hand looked frantic.

"I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes and the tufted tail; " the smaller boy said anxiously , "but I couldn't think what else…"

James looked at him in disbelief.

"How thick are you Wormtail? " he demanded with a hint of impatience, "You run around with a werewolf once a month…"

The intensity of the look Remus threw him made James break of mid-sentence.

"Keep you're voice down. " the werewolf muttered with a quick glance around, but the other students were for once not focused on the school idol's every word. The giggling girls were too occupied in comparing exams results and stress relievers and the Marauders couldn't help but be grateful for the peace and quiet.

* * *

The foursome made their nonchalant way across the grass towards their favourite tree that stood near the lake's edge. The water sparkled in the July sun and the oak's branches seemed to wave cheerily at them in the distance, an old friend calling at them to hurry, that it had been too long. But even the friendly sight couldn't dispel Sirius' edginess. The silence for once was oppressive and provoking and more for something to say than anything else, he pushed his hair arrogantly out of his eyes and said with forced casualness

"Well I thought that paper was a piece of cake, " breaking the easy silence rather abruptly "I'll be surprised if I don't get an Outstanding on it at least. "

James quirked a brow at his friend but carried on the conversation.

"Me too. " before a gleam of inspiration lit up his hazel eyes. He dug a brown hand into the pocket of his robes and fumbled for a moment, deliberately making the gesture obvious enough to hold the other's attention. When it remerged, his long elegant fingers grasped a tiny golden ball, the silver wings beating helplessly against his grip in an effort to break free. The other's looks of surprise were exactly what he'd been hoping for; James' lips pulled triumphantly upwards into his trademark smirk.

"Where did you get that? " Sirius asked, as James held the Snitch up to the light in obvious self-satisfaction. Without removing his complacent gaze from the sparkling little ball, James answered nonchalantly

"Nicked it. " Before glancing sideways in mischievous enjoyment of the look of disapproval that had appeared on Remus' face. A mobile black brow lifted in challenge but the werewolf simply rolled his eyes and carried on walking without a word. James accepted the pointed snub with a smile and began playing with the stolen snitch, releasing it only to catch in again mere seconds later. Sirius almost smiled too as Remus stared stubbornly ahead, ignoring both James' antics and Wormtail's expression of admiration that was verging slightly worryingly towards hero-worship.

The foursome walked across the grass with the same easy nonchalance as if they owned it, oblivious of the eyes that followed them from the groups of students littered over the sloping grounds. They were the Marauders; notoriety was the norm.

The ground was soft and comfortable under the shade of the oak and all four boy's sighed in relief as they settled down into their various occupations.

Remus being Remus had pulled out a book and was studying the blank print in a complete concentration alien to the two rather less conscientious Marauders. James watched him blankly for a moment before shaking his head in mock bemusement and releasing the Snitch once more. The golden ball made yet another bid for freedom, pumping it's little wings towards the sky but before it had even gone two foot James' fist had snapped faster than lightening and snatched in back out of the air. Wormtail's cheers brought the smirk back to his lips and of it's own accord his hand reached up to rumple his hair. Just in case it had somehow lost it's charming and decidedly sexy disorder.

A laugh made the leader of the Marauder's turn his head, a bright sparkling laugh that seemed to dance on the light breeze but when the owner of the laugh became apparent, the smirk abruptly disappeared from his handsome face.

A group of four girls had established themselves at the water's edge only some fifteen meter's away and were now removing their shoes and socks as the tallest one stepped gingerly into the cold blue water. It was the look on the pretty blonde's face that had provoked the laughter and the guilty party was balancing daintily on a rock with the small waves lapping at her toes as she giggled. The girl's red curls were gleaming like a spray of molten gold in the sunlight and James snorted inwardly.

Stupid carrot-top.

The third girl of the group caught his eye, an eye that coincidently happened to be an almost mirror image of her own. Jenny winked and tossed her brown curls at him, the gleam of mischief apparent even at this distance and James grinned back at his incorrigible cousin affectionately.

Blackwater completed the group and she was standing stubbornly on the grassy bank refusing to even dunk one toe into the lake despite the other three coaxing and pleading. She met his gaze and his grin and stuck out a pink tongue, nose lifting haughtily into the air and, as he laughed, the blond Alice was also happened to be Frank's long-term girlfriend, and finally the last girl, both turned around curiously.

James allowed his mouth to stretch into a wide mocking smirk as those stupid green eyes widened in surprise before morphing into an expression of intense dislike. With another quick ruffle of his hair he let go of the snitch once more, a strange new determination to show off pumping in his veins as he performed catches that grew steadily more and more difficult.

After the eighth show of almost inhuman reflexes and Wormtail's third consecutive cheer ,James couldn't resist throwing a quick glance back at towards the group, before frowning in infinitesimal irritation when not one of them were looking and more importantly, admiring. James bristled but covered the annoyance with the smirk that had broken too many hearts to count and redoubled his efforts. Catch after superb catch he made, with a peek every now and then over towards the lake's edge and he had just made the most impressive one yet when suddenly a clipped, bored voice made him turn his head.

"Put that away will you? " Sirius said with studied nonchalance, "before Wormtail wets himself with excitement. "

Peter flushed, mouth still open in an enthusiastic cheer but James simply smirked arrogantly at his friend. The look in Sirius' eye was decidedly dangerous and although the temptation was strong James forbore to tease, knowing full well the cruel reason of his brother's ill-humour. An exaggerated sigh, a grin and then, with a flourish, James stuffed the ball back inside his pocket, saying cheerily

"If it bothers you. "

Sirius made no answer, eying the smirk darkly for a moment before resuming his haughty scrutiny of the excited and hyperactive fifth years that were scattered randomly over the grass. James hid a grin and laid back on the grass, eyes closed in relaxed contentment. The silence was comfortable, the only sound the rustle of green leaves over their head, the splashes from the water and the laughs and chattering from over fifty relieved and exhausted students. By silence leaves one open to all the thoughts one tries to lock away and after only a few minutes Sirius' legendary self-control finally shattered.

"I'm bored " he said testily, "Wish it was full moon. "

Remus eyed his friend with an expression somewhere between disbelief and depression.

"You might. " he said darkly, before scratching his forehead with a tired sigh. "We've still got transfiguration, if you're bored you can test me. Here… "

Sirius turned away from the book being held out to him, with a haughty sneer.

"I don't need to look at that rubbish, I know it all. " he snorted coldly.

Remus' brows raised in surprise at the cutting tone he usually used only on his fan club but after a slight hesitation, forbore to inquire. James met the werewolf's eyes and shrugged ever so slightly; not even the other two Marauders knew about what had happened all those years ago. It was Sirius' deepest, darkest, most humiliating secret, the part of himself he loathed above all else and only his truest friend shared that knowledge. Knowledge and a matching furious hatred of the bitch who'd set the curse upon him. With the help of her little friend, James spat silently.

It was then that a rustling in the nearby bushes made James, with his highly acute hearing, prick up his ears. Hazel irises gleamed as, speak of the devil and he will appear; or at least his particularly greasy little henchmen.

"This'll liven you up Padfoot, " said James, his voice deceptively soft, "Look who it is… "

That handsome head became completely still and thick black lashes caressed gleaming gold skin as Sirius breathed in the air and the scent with an almost sinful ghost of a smile haunting his lips.

"Excellent. " Gentle cruelty rippled on the air. Lips pulled ever so softly upwards into a smirk as beautiful and dangerous as a Veela.

" _Snivellus_. "

One single word, breathed like a lover's caress, made Remus wince as he too caught the familiar unwashed odour. Not now, he begged silently. Not today. But the demon light in those tanzanite eyes showed all too clearly that fate was not going to hear his plea, and Remus fixed his gaze tensely on his book.

The dark, angular figure was crossing the grounds not ten feet away, having apparently emerged from somewhere in the nearby clump of bushes. Snape's shoulder were hunched and skinny, his greasy curtains of hair flapping as he moved twitchily one long foot after the other. James and Sirius rose to their feet and, without looking, the werewolf could imagine perfectly the matching pair of cruel smirks that would be gracing their features unfairly handsomely. Remus closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

"Alright, Snivellus? " James' cocky voice echoed loudly across the grounds. His trademark smirk was already on his lips, hand nonchalantly waiting in his pocket. And as predicted, the Slytherin spun round and had his wand out of his robes before most onlookers could even blink. Severus Snape was a deadly duellist, James wasn't stupid enough not to realise that, but being trained every summer by the Greatest Duellist after Dumbledore himself, it was like a kitten to a lion.

Reflexes no human should ever posses brought the elegant mahogany wand out of his pocket and through the air before Snape's hand was higher than his waist. The spell was almost laughed from his lips, the intent underneath the outward casualness enough to make one wince.

"Expelliarmus! "

Snape hissed as the wand was blasted out of his grip, his eyes automatically closing to shield them from the blast of raw, angry power. Sirius' wild bark of laughter rasped from behind him; too mad, too unrestrained for normality and again anger surged. No; not anger; Hatred. It was hatred that James felt pounding in his blood, quickening his pulse and wetting his lips. Hatred and resentfulness all mixed in together as he stared down the boy who would ever, he was sure, be his worst enemy.

The Slytherin dived for the wand and James lips were already forming more words when a sudden flash of light from behind him sent the greasy-haired git sprawling to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Impedimenta! " James glanced at his brother who was staring down at Snivellus' twitching form with an expression on his absurdly handsome face that even sent a tiny chill down James him self's spine. A quick glance around at the rapidly growing crowd made him breath an inward sigh of relief. No one noticed; every onlooker was too busy staring at the Slytherin still writhing helplessly on the ground. Near the front, Mick, Stebbins and the rest of the gang laughed, waiting for the show to continue. Twenty or so member's of the Marauder Fan-clubs had also moved forward eagerly to get a better look at their idols. The scene was attracting more and more attention. Maybe even enough for…

The glance was so brief no one present could have noticed it but that was all James needed; that one momentarily glimpse of her copper head turned their way sent the adrenalin pumping through his veins. The triumph, the satisfaction of knowing that any moment curiosity would be too much and she and Jenny and the other's would make their way over to find out the source of all the attention. The thought of Snivelly's face made his eyes gleam in anticipation, the shame, the humiliation of having her see him cringing and crawling on all fours in front of his hated enemy. They'd see if she still preferred that greasy bastard over him. Stupid, ugly bitch that she was.

Snape was still panting on the ground, straining against the invisible bonds hard enough to turn his ugly face almost blue with rage. James and Sirius exchanged a look and then, as one, advanced on the Slytherin, wands raised and smirks identical. Another lightening glance towards the lake. Still not coming closer.

To hide his impatience James grinned innocently down at their prisoner, his voice light and almost friendly

"How'd the exam go Snivelly? ", he asked casually.

"I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment. " Sirius' cold voice intercepted in tones of obvious revulsion. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word. "

Several people sniggered, Wormtail, Mick and the others openly laughed and James allowed his smirk to stretch handsomely wider, enjoying the sight of his arch-enemy helplessly struggling against the magical ropes.

"You…wait " he panted, staring up into James' victorious face with purest loathing, "You…wait! "

It was Sirius who answered, deep purple-blue eyes gleaming with an equal hatred.

"Wait for what? " he enunciated coolly; "What're you going to do Snivelly, wipe your nose on us? "

The cruelty was vicious; James could see the anger in the git's eyes, the flush in his cheeks as he babbled out a stream of swear-words and hexes all of which, useless with his wand still five feet away. Still, after a few moment, James grew bored of the furious insults and said coldly

"Wash out your mouth. " then more sharply.

"Scourgify! "

James stood back with a cruel smile to complacently admire his own work. The soap bubbles poured from the git's mouth immediately, thick froth covering thin lips and even part of that ginormous conk. Satisfaction returned the smirk to his lips as the bubbles continued to stream relentlessly, choking the slimy git until he was almost gagging. Plus the pink added a nice touch. Now if only she was here to see it…

"Leave him ALONE! "

Triumph gleamed gold in those hazel eyes even as complete despair darkened those coal black ones. James turned, relishing the memory of that destruction in his enemy's eyes, ran his fingers cockily through his hair and pulled out his best heart-breaking smile.

"All right, Evans? " he grinned devilishly.

Neither the anger nor the dislike in those emerald green eyes abated one jot. The tiny red-head glared at him with all the hatred of five years of inferiority behind them and James felt the adrenalin pumps faster still.

Everything else seemed to slip away; Sirius' form that had frozen at the first sound of the girl's voice; Jenny's face in the background for once without a mischievous twinkle, the laughter and cat-calling from his friends and fans that usually would make him preen in satisfaction. None of it mattered, nothing but the fact that he had just added the perfect tombstone to Snape's humiliation.

James' lip curled cruelly. Serve that bastard right, pining after a girl he'd sworn to exterminate, corrupting her with…well whatever Slytherin wiles he used…somehow setting her against the people she should be falling over herself to please.

The deluded priss still glared back at him, and it took an effort to keep the grin firmly on his features.

"Leave him alone, " Lily repeated again just as angrily, "What's he done to you? "

James lifted a brown hand to scratch his chin, as he considered the point.

"Well, " he drawled thoughtfully, "It's more the fact that he exists if you know what I mean… "

Laughter erupted around them, even torn from Sirius' silent throat, and James lips quirked into that devilish smirk as he met her gaze in challenge. Evans did not laugh; he hadn't expect her to. Instead she eyed him coldly with every appearance of intense dislike and James again had to fight back the niggle of irritation.

"You think you're funny, " she returned in a voice like ice, " But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag Potter. Leave him alone! "

For the briefest moment James eyed her darkly before inspiration lit up his eyes in evil victory. A quick, merciless glance towards the boy still helpless on the ground and he grinned into Lily Evan's emerald with every ounce of all his God-Given charm.

"I will if you go out with me, Evans? " he gleamed wickedly, "Go on…go out with me and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again. "

For a moment the crowd was stunned into silence; girl's mouths fell open in devastation, he could feel Sirius' body turn motionless as a statue beside him and even Remus' head lifted in incomprehension. But the best of all was the complete and utter horror that turned his enemy's face pale as the grave. James smirked widened impossibly as those small black eyes filled with an impossible mixture of pain, terror and hatred as they snapped back and forth from himself to the face of the girl opposite. The feeling of triumph, the cruel satisfaction at the bastards pain, it all made him crow silently inside.

Then she spoke.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid. " the redhead pronounced each word with deliberate emphasis, eyes hard as green glass and face tense in cold fury.

The words didn't seem to register. For a single instant James could only stare as blankly as every other individual present as the truth sunk in that he, James Potter, had been turned down by a girl. His mouth was hanging slightly open, his shock was such that he didn't even notice that the Impediment curse was wearing off, that Severus Snape was crawling like a spider towards his disarmed wand, spitting out soapsuds' as he went. Didn't see those pale bony fingers close around it and lift…

Sirius' voice was the only one to cut through the madness, brisk and expressionless as he automatically covered his brother's tracks saying

"Bad Luck Prongs. " before letting out a sharp, furious cry of warning

"Oi! "

Too late. James turned his head faster than normal human velocity allowed but the flash of white light was already blinding him. The school idol could only wince as the curse tore into his cheeks like a knife, leaving a gash that even Moony on his worst nights could have been proud off. The blood splattered over his robes, pouring down his cheek and into his mouth but even as he spat it out his wand was already lifted. Another brilliant flash of light and James sneered coldly at the now upside down figure flailing like a fish on a hook in front of him. Onlookers cheered and catcalled and laughed tauntingly as the too-large baggy trousers fell down to reveal paisley white skinny legs, knobbly knees and even the beginning of greying underpants that looked like they'd been worn for a fortnight. Inwardly James gloated; Snivellus wasn't the only one capably of non-verbal magic at the impossibly young age of fifteen.

Evan's angry voice reminded him of her presence.

" Let him down ! » she demanded furiously. James eyed her for the briefest moment before complying with a heart-stopping grin.

"Certainly. " he winked at her suavely and flicked his wand. Let Snivelly be saved by his little girlfriend, he thought viciously as the Slytherin fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

* * *

Snape immediately tried to struggle his ways out of his up-ended robes, white grasping fingers already reaching for his wand but Sirius was not going to be too late this time.

"Petrificus Totalus! " he said emotionlessly, looking anyway but into the redhead's pale, furious face. Snape keeled almost instantly rigid as a board but a moment later, Lily's angry cry of "Leave him alone! " made him meet her eyes warily.

Her wand was out and she wasn't looking at him; all her concentration, her hatred and her blazing anger was concentrated on Prongs, and cowardly as it was Sirius couldn't help but feel a slight guilty twinge of release. Beside him James was eyeing the wand in her hand too, a new carefulness in his eyes hidden behind his typical mask of arrogance.

"Ah Evans, don't make me hex you. " he grinned at her with his most obnoxious smile. Sirius almost rolled his eyes. Stupid prat.

Needless to say Lily was less than impressed.

"Take the curse of him then! " she ordered with dangerously narrowed eyes that were almost spitting emerald green sparks.

Beside him James let out a heartbreaking sigh, as though she'd just ruined his fun for the mere selfish pleasure of it. Ill-usage made his lips pout and many of the girls still watching the scene with avid attention, sighed over their idol's good-looks and sent Lily glares that could curdle milk.

A quick muttered word, still in that hurt, martyred voice and Snape's thin, ungainly body relaxed into freedom. The glint in his eye though was far from innocent.

"There you go, "he said sweetly as the greasy-haired boy struggled to his feet. A tiny pause, a evil smile, then he threw a litre of salt into the wound and rubbed. Hard.

"You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus… "

Snape's face was contorted with hatred as the triumphant grin on his tormentors face made his blood boil and reason fly out the proverbial window, pulling words from his lips that he would regret until the moment he died.

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her! "

Sirius watched the words form. He watched his angel's face turn whiter than snow. He watched the agonising shock and pain fill those great emerald eyes up like water. He watched the chagrin on Snape's face, the realisation and the instant regret but even as he saw it, as his breathtaking eyes took it all in, the blackness was already taking over. Deadly, familiar blackness seeping into his veins like venom, madness crawling under his skin as he watched almost without hearing as Lily threw back immediately

"Fine. " A infinitesimal steadying breath. " I won't bother in the future. And I'd wash your pant's if I were you Snivellus. "

She ended coldly, jaw already hardened and pain already masked but the blackness didn't cool. It simmered below the surface, a deadly hatred, an anger, a loathing inspired by this one more injury added to an even greater one that still haunted him. Two blows, two unforgivable attacks as well as a rivalry between two people too different in character and beliefs. Sirius barely heard his brother's voice as it cut through the heaviness of the atmosphere, almost roared in sudden anger.

"Apologise to Evans! " James snarled, wand raised threateningly at the greasy git.

Too much anger. His highly acute mind tugged. Chivvied, battling their way through the madness. Too forceful. Even for one so firmly and openly supportive of Muggle and Muggle-born rights. Much too forceful. Forceful enough to pull his brain away from his own darkness, important enough to push it aside just for a little while yet. Sirius blinked as though seeing the sunlight for the first time, repressing the black fire, the dark paralysing temper that pulled at him like tentacles, deadly vines if a devils snare starved of prey for all too long.

"I don't want you to make him apologise! ", Lily shouted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is! "

Sirius could almost feel the heat and indignation pouring off his friend as he gaped at the red-head in angry disbelief.

"WHAT? I'd never call you a…you-know-what! " But Lily hadn't finished.

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can- I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me sick! " And with that Lily swung round on her heel and stormed away, titan hair spraying out behind her like flames.

There was a deadly, stunned silence as James simply stared after the girl's retreating figure with his mouth hanging open. Then, finally after gaping helplessly for something to say he yelled out furiously

"Evans! Hey EVANS! "

But she didn't look back.

James stood as still as a statue, frozen like marble before he finally bit out.

"What is it with her? " Sirius winced as two gold fires blazed in his best mates eyes, belying the forced casualness of the question. And when he answered it was just as carefully.

"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited mate. "

Another, terrifying silence before, just as expected the volcano Sirius had been dreading erupted.

"Right. " The black-haired boy turned on the Slytherin with an almost murderous look on his handsome features, a look so ugly as to wipe Snape's oily smirk right off his face. The Slytherin backed away but James' wand flashed quicker than the human eye could see as he snarled once more, with more than a suggestion of gritted teeth

"RIGHT! "

There was another blinding flash of light and a second later Snape was once more hanging upside-down in mid-air. The smirk that had curled James' lips was now a cruel, hateful sneer and his voice was like silk as he said with cold satisfaction

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants? "

In damming unison, twenty heartless cheers erupted.

* * *

After the events of that Exam Pause Hogwarts returned to normality, revision and studying occupying even the Marauder's time. But Black rage does not cool. Not after seeing his angel fall so painfully back to earth. Lily cried and reproached and cried more but the tears were wiped away and the punches allowed to fall. Only for her. And when a day later, Sirius met the Slytherin responsible for the tears and the heartbreak and the pain, the black rage had never won a battle so completely.

At ten o clock the broom closet was closed and the demoiselle left as a tall dark shadow made his way silent as ghost through the castle. Severus Snape would pay, he smiled softly and the cruel round disk of the moon through the open window, seemed to smile sweetly back.

* * *

**Well, there it is; either love it or hate it XD Whatever you decide, do remember to TELL me about it by pressing that little green button and making my day ;) Oh and as I said there are are little hints of things not let explained in AOA so don't be surprised if some bit's leave you with question. Ask away lol though I can't 100% promise an answer. ;)**

**Anyway luv you all loads and I'll be up with CHapter 23/Chapter 22 part 2 as soon as possible ok =)**

**Lili**

**x x x x x x x x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi there everyone. I sure you're all wondering where I am, why the hell am I not updating quicker ect. =( I'm sorry! I'm getting there, promise lol. Now on to this extra, well it's not really long enough to be called a chapter so scene would be best. ^^ As I'm sure you know, the third Chapter of First Steps (the previous one in fact) was a scene showing Snape's Worst Memory as I imagined it in AOA, in other words how it fits in with my story. Anyway, one reviewer criticised it on two different points in a review that this chapter is I suppose in answer too. Before you all scowl at me don't worry, you must know I'm not the type to take critisisme badly ;) **

**What I first want to say is that one the points is a valid one; it is possible, I daresay probable that in the HP books, Sirius' betrayel and attempter murder of Snape did happen before the OWL's and not after. I admit to not being sure on this point and I don't have the books with me right now to check =( All I can do is apologise and say very shamefully that I really can't change the entire story now, as is it such a key point to the entire plot. So point one is completely true and valid. **

**Point two however is the one I would like to argue; hvwlkjg accuses me of deliberately leaving out the fact that James is scribbling Lily's initials on a piece of spare parchment before leaving, for the reason that it doesn't fit in with the story. To a certain extent this is true; it isn't mentioned in the chapter but NOT for that reason but a completely different one altogether. Quite simply, at the beginning of the scene, we are in Sirius' POV, Sirius' mind and thoughts and view of whats going on. In the scene, he does see James scribbling out something BUT he is in fact two rows behind, therefore not in a position to see what was actually being scribbled out. It seemed a little far-fetched to have Sirius being able to have a bird-eye view of the room. ;) **

**So that's why it wasn't mentioned but, thinking about it, I really do think the question is a valid one. It doesn't seem at first glance to fit in with James' character and the situation of him disliking her and only asking her out to wind up Snape. So here is a 2000 word piece that was written to set my mind at ease as much as anyone elses, on how it could tie in. "Could" please note, as in not necessarily the most obvious explantion but one that is entirely possible ;).**

**Read it, review if you love me enough, and I send it all back at ya =D**

**Lili**

**x x x x x x x**

* * *

James leaned back in his chair with a sigh and a cocky grin. The test was even easier than he'd expected, which really was saying something. He'd scribbled out the entire thing before taking another, more expensive piece of vellum and re-writing the essay in his best, French script handwriting. All before three quarters of the time were up. James ruffled his hair in deep satisfaction. Sometimes being a genius really did have it's plus points.

The king of the school allowed his eyes to meander slowly around the Great Hall with no absolute destination. All the students in the five rows in front of him were still scribbling frantically away and James was just about to turn around discreetly in search of Sirius, when a horribly familiar black curtain of hair caught his eye.

The greasy head bobbed up and down like a floating apple, so far bent over the desk that his huge nose had to be touching the parchment. James' lip curled in distaste as suddenly it twitched, glancing over to the right in a furtive, greedy action that made him follow the gaze, curious despite himself. Across the chairs, desks and students until…

The smirk broke loose as if being freed from it's bonds, tearing his lips upwards with that typical haunting beauty, the cruelty in his eyes turning them so dark as to almost be black.

Of course, he murmured, watching as the girl shook out auburn curls and stretched her arms out and over the desk in relief at having finished. The copper locks tumbled into her face and she pushed them back with a cheery smile, glancing around the room as she did so, gaze automatically searching for her friends. Blackwater…Greycloud,…Jenny,…James' sneered a little, _Sirius…_before halting briefly on the ugly Slytherin that had been sneaking glances at her mere seconds before. James snorted and folded his arms, irritated despite himself. Hazel eyes narrowed as still the girl smiled with gentle affection towards his enemy and James decided he'd had enough. He tilted back his chair and then let the front legs fall back to earth with a thump loud enough to make almost every head spin round. The school idol ignored them all as well as Flitwick's disapproving look, waiting impatiently for that burnished head to turn.

The green eyes met his in a spark of…something and James couldn't help but rumple his hair with a obnoxious grin. Even as she turned away, the satisfaction still lingered, inexplicably pleased to have pulled her attention away from the slime ball who was probably wanking off to her photo every night with those bony hands.

"He probably hopes they'll get married," James thought, eyeing Snivellus contemptuously, "have lots of greasy-haired babies and live happily ever after despite the fact that he's working for people who'd see her dead quicker than you could say 'Mudblood'. "

The expression on his beautiful features turned suddenly harsh, anger igniting with a blaze of fire as the just thinking the word made him want to murder the git. Pathetic, weak little hypocrite. Bitch or not, even Evans was light-years out of his league. She deserved someone not ashamed to admit he was her friend, her confidant and her admirer. Someone who actually fought for what he wanted instead of drawing her initials all over his books while refusing to even sit with her at lunch. Lots of little "L.E" splattered all over his textbooks and essays and a creepy little black diary.

James hadn't even noticed the two letters he'd traced roughly on the scrap on parchment reserved deliberately for doodling, but when he did the idea grew as did his smirk. His eyes danced wickedly, warming to his theme and letting his imagination run riot. Hmm colour; red as her hair maybe he pondered before snickering. Nah, the slimy git wouldn't want to remind himself that she was Gryffindor and thus at opposite ends of the spectrum from him. Green then? The smirk widened. Yeaaah, the colour of her eyes and his house, he grinned, picking up a spare quill and dipping it into the emerald ink-well, following the original lines with care until the two letters shone wetly back at him.

What next? Then the answer came to him in a flash and James had to repress a laugh. He picked up the green quill once more and pulled it easily around the initials into a smooth, perfect heart. The creep simply had to be pathetically romantic. James admired his own work approvingly, before dipping the quill into the ink once more. Another vine was added, snaking its way around the first like a lover. Then tiny leaves, thorns, twirls before finally changing his quill and drawing a full, ruby red rose.

James placed the quill on the desk, smirk gone, a tiny frown now replacing it. What had started out as merely a joke had grown into a full blown-out crest, one red petal of the rose almost touching the edge of the gold and silver snitch he'd doodled earlier. Almost but not quite.

Then Flitwick's voice cut piercingly through the silence and the L.E was hastily scribbled out. The last thing James Potter wanted was for someone to get the wrong idea. Merlin, imagine THAT uproar.

Quills, ink and paper was quickly put away, eyes already searching for Sirius through the masses of escaping students when the last item on his desk caught his eye.

The boy threw a quick glance at the nearby bin and paused, hesitating.

James stuffed the scrap of parchment roughly into his bag.

* * *

**I know that's all! I think it's a record lol, the shortest scene I've ever written. Still, I quite liked it, so sue me ^^ I think it seemed oddly fitting that the intials were again only "supposed " to be to annoy Snape but...well, who knows ;) Tell me what you think qnd I promise I'll be updating soon. I've got too many scenes in my head at the moment and keep on dotting between them all without focusing on any of them. Chapter 22 is almost done. Tears of Gold Chapter one is all but finished and should hopefully be up soon, Chapter 2 is planned. A future chapter of AOA depicting the entire story of Moniqua, Henry and their link with Voldemort is almost finished but can't be posted for a good while yet sigh =( And on top of that, I'm in the process of working out my own book, not a fanfiction but something completly original and all my own. My head is like a sandstorm right now! =s**

**Anyway, luv you all :)**

**Lili**

**x x x x x x x x x x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey there all! Well this is the second "Chapter" I'm posting tonight lol. I'm on roll XD Anyway, this is for those wanted to know more about Moniqua and Henry, how they got together, why, when etc… This the first of a few "moments" in their lives; not the most important one but still one that I like and I feel indicates a lot about the couple in an indirect fashion. **

**Most of this chapter is through Henry's thoughts. This means that, genius as he is, he observes everything around him with incredible detail but also remarkable distance. Many readers will instantly guess why he is reacting in certain ways but the idea will not even occur to Henry himself. Therefore, although he see's everything, he really is quite ridiculously blind to the actual emotions behind the actions. But as I said, this is what makes him one of my favourite characters to write about; the mixture of omniscience and yet blindness in regards to the obvious. It's brilliant fun =) And to me at least, oddly endearing. This sequence shows a side of Henry won't be so apparent in later life. In AOA he loves MJ and James to the point of it being almost frightening. Here, despite his intelligence and his coldness towards the world, we get a taste of the eighteen year old boy that he himself tends to forget he is. **

**Just to be clear, the first scene takes place maybe a week before Graduation and the end of their final year. As for the rest well, it's kind of obvious, I hope. ^^**

**Anyway, see what you think, ;) Pleaaaase leave a review if you can even to tell me you hate it. And they'll be more to come about what happens after.**

**Luv ya lots! =)**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x **

**PS: This an edited version lol, with the italien corrected (Thank you Maya!) =D and with a french translation at the end, sorry for forgetting! One last thing: There is an error in the timeline, in chapter five when Lily meets MJ I made a mistake: it should be "on the eve of her third World cup" not her second. The first time she wins it at fourteen, before coming to Hogwarts, the send time is at 18, in this scene here, and the third time is at 22, when she announces that she is giving up. I will try to get round to correcting the error in Chapter 5 soon. Until then, my apologies for the confusion. **

* * *

The angry lump caught in his smooth cream throat as he remembered her face as she'd held out the small innocent piece of paper. He'd raised an eyebrow, arrogantly questioning as to why she was waving this pink slip in front of his nose, but something in her expression had prevented him from unleashing his usual derisive sneer. A nervousness he'd never seen before in those great black sloe eyes, a shyness he'd never felt beneath her cocky exterior.

"It's a ticket."

Henry said nothing. Did she think he hadn't noticed this pathetically obvious fact. Her brown hand crept to her ear and to his slight surprise she ran it through her mane of ebony locks, eyes shifting away so as not to meet his expressionless gaze. Inside though, he was reeling. She was…NERVOUS. Moniqua Monroe, swallowing and fiddling with her perfectly groomed hair like a second year working up the courage to ask her crush on a date. It was unheard of. Ludicrous.

Suddenly her black gaze flittered back to his.

"To the World Cup Final. I…I don't know if you know… but erm…." She swore silently in French in frustration at the way the words didn't seem to do as she wanted

"This probably sounds so big-headed doesn't it…I just…"

Henry said nothing. The girl took a deep breath and forced out her next words as though they were painful.

"I'm…playing, you know in the final…and I was wondering…all players get to invite a few guests and…well as Captain I got more that I actually needed so…I thought, maybe…

Another deep breath. Then she locked eyes with his.

"Maybe you would come. Watch me play."

His handsome face gave nothing away, not even the smallest hint to what was going on behind that mask of stone. His gorgeous hazel eyes were blank as a dead man's, seeing through her as though she were invisible. Then he spoke, calmly and completely detached as ever.

"I could buy five hundred of these tickets Monroe. If I had any interest in the sport which, as I believe you are well aware, I do not."

He could see from the way she cringed slightly, the tiniest hint of a flush in those brown cheeks, that he had hurt her. For once she had let herself open up, left herself vulnerable to him and just as she'd feared, he'd crushed her like a bug. Almost inperceptively she swallowed, before nodding and forcing a pitiful echo of her famous smirk.

"Sure. I thought I'd better have one last crack at showing you the error of your ways before we leave and never see each other again."

The girl turned to leave, with the barest hint of a sigh and Henry knew he should be felicitating himself on his success. After all, Monroe had been a thorn in his side for almost three years now, three years it had taken her to finally take the hint. He wanted nothing to do with her; she hated him so any pitiful attempt at a truce between them was pointless. So why was something in his chest protesting fiercely, thumping in concern at the flicker of pain in those coal black eyes. Why was his hand reaching out to pull her back, his lips open and bursting to speak but at a loss of what to say?

Shock was etched in every inch of her face as she turned back to him, raven hair swirling behind her as his iron grip wrenched her towards him. Then confusion, wariness and just the tiniest flicker of hope. For a moment they stared into each others eyes, tasting the electricity that sparked between them, curious and a little scared but above all waiting in some unconscious certainty that something was changing. Something giant, huge, monumental. And finally he spoke, soft and quietly, as though weighing each word before allowing it to pass those perfect lips.

"But…why waste three thousand galleons…that would be better spent betting on Italy winning."

She stared into his face before the biggest, widest smile spread all over her brown features and he couldn't help himself, his lips twitched in response. Mischief sparkled in her onyx eyes and the twitching stopped immediately, waiting warily for the trouble that that particular smirk always foreshadowed. She twinkled at him, waving the ticket like a fan as the other hand crept back to sit cockily on her hip.

"Right, then there's just one last thing you need to know." Henry raised one dark eyebrow and her smirk grew wider.

" Repeat after me;" she took a deep mocking breath before chanting with wicked victorious relish

"_Allez les Bleus; ALLEZ…"_

* * *

The Stadium, the surrounding countryside and even the top-box was swarming. People scurried back and forth blindly in every direction like an unturned ant-hill. Henry curled his lip, nostrils flaring in deep distaste, eyes carefully focused on the air directly in front of him as faces stopped and stared, ogling and pointing in shock or adulation. The Potter heir acknowledged none of them, his head never wavering, as his body moved with that eye-catching, stiff yet somehow fluid grace.

The Ministry Witch collecting the tickets tripped over her words as he held out the pink slip with a cold glance in her direction.

"Uh…Up to the…to the top. As high as you can go…."

"_Attend!"_

Two heads turned at the interruption, the flustered red-faced official suddenly downcast and disappointed, the man without any change in his expression.

Monroe marched to his side, as determined and arrogant as ever, her Quidditch suit and robes already donned, black hair restrained sleekly at the nape of the neck. The effect of seeing her without make-up was still as striking as ever; he wondered once again vaguely why she bothered with it. The skin shimmered with a golden glow, her figure strong and lithely curved even half-hidden as it was by the blue folds. Henry saw it all in one sweeping glance before stopping to stare into those endless black eyes.

For a moment they simply looked at each other, perhaps neither one still quite believing that they were both here. Then the smirk was unleashed with a vengeance and Henry allowed his eyes to roll with well-accustomed practice.

"You made it." she grinned at him, pleasure slipping through despite the casualness of the words.

"Evidently."

It was like being back at Hogwarts again; Monroe let out a throaty laugh and grasped his arm to pull him inexorably towards a side-door into what looked to be a small storage room. The moment it was closed behind them, he shook off her grip with an expression of distaste and again she laughed ruefully.

The minutes stretched as the pair simply stared at each other, for once neither one breaking the quietly tense silence. Her black eyes feasted on every inch of him, from the elegant black robes to his impeccably styled chestnut locks, the one at the front as ever falling heartbreakingly over his brow. The four weeks since she'd last seen him had felt like eternity; seeing him again, she couldn't help but try to memorise him completely. Moniqua could fell her heart thudding slightly, recalling just how much she'd missed the cold, antisocial god in front of her, during those twenty-eight excruciating days. The thought leapt into her mind, tightening her chest; the first month of forever. Forever without ever seeing him again.

Then the time on her watch caught her eye and she spun round to him with a dazzling grin.

"I can't stay long. Captain's speech and all that. You know where the top box is? Go up the steps and don't stop. You'll see lots of people you'll recognise, I imagine." She added with a spark of mischief, "Or at least who'll recognise you."

He didn't respond to the grin, simply staring down at her before finally saying

"I have been told as much. Obviously you expected me to get lost in the stairwell."

She didn't flush; she was Moniqua Monroe, on the verge of winning her second world cup final, all before her eighteenth birthday. She did however grin just a little embarrassedly.

"Just checking you remember your Cheerleading Chant."

Brown brows were haughtily raised and a full lip ever so slightly curled.

"My memory is, I assure you, is still fully retentive. But you seem to be suffering under some kind of illusion. I am supporting the Italian side."

The instantaneous way her face fell was ludicrous; his lips couldn't't help but twitch. She was still as easy to goad as ever. But a moment later the smirk returned, glaring at him mockingly and rolling her eyes in a manner, he realised abruptly, she must have picked up from him. She pouted at him and folded her arms, indicating with a sniff the door they had just come through.

"Not if you want to come to the after party, you aren't't, and of course the Press Conference after that. Now hurry and get up there, Potter," her eyes gleamed wickedly, "I've got a Quidditch Final to win."

She pointed toward the exit with a haughty flourish. He bowed slightly and moved to the door with that same matchless grace, pausing only with one hand resting on the handle.

"Viva l'Italia." he enunciated softly, with the tiniest answering gleam. Then he glided through the open doorway, repressing a smirk as an assorted collection of interesting, French, English and Spanish words floated passionately after him.

* * *

Strutting down those steps, the gleaming sliver trophy clutched in her gloved hands, it was like seeing her for the first time.

She'd swapped the black leather suit and French robes for a shimmering cocktail dress of the very palest powder blue. Her manes was left loose and free, gleaming in the light as she moved, thick and deepest black to matching those sloe eyes that had never sparkled so brilliantly as they did now.

The French _Ministre_ was already at her side, his neatly clipped moustache almost painted onto his face, his hands gesticulating wildly as he congratulated her on her _superbe, magnifique, incroyable_ performance. One came to pat the girl's head affectionately and something twisted in his stomach as she laughed and batted her lashes coyly, easing away from his touch without the old yet still virile (if the rumours were true) sixty year old even noticing.

Next in line stood the Minister for Magic, stern but polite as he nodded his grey head condescendingly down at her. Immediately the laughter disappeared and Henry's lips twitched as she lifted her chin and held out her hand to the slightly shocked man with the grace and dignity of a queen. Even at this distance he knew how her gaze would pin even Tyrannius Malfoy to the floor and just as he knew he would, the sleek silver-haired man found himself bowing over her hand almost without realising it.

Moniqua drew away with a gleam that could have been either mischief or triumph, sending a smile to the Minister's white blond assistant, and not so coincidently, nephew. The smirk she received in return had the brief flicker of humour vanishing from Henry's hazel eyes in an instant.

And so it went on, as the Team members and their Captain meeted and greeted the hoards of notables queuing up to shake their hands, chatter excitedly or simply congratulate the victorious side. The Italians joined in with greasy smiles and infallible courtesy, only the forced grimaces on their tanned features when they applauded the winning team showed any indication on the bitter disappointment they must be feeling. And as Vincenzo D'Orazio kissed her hand, Moniqua smiled sweetly back as though, the smarmy git hadn't tried to foul her seventeen times in total.

The room bustled with life and laughter, ladies and gentlemen chattering blithely in at least six different languages that he could hear, between sips of sparkling champagne and savoury aperitifs. Henry's face was a cold mask. Even standing in the shadows, it seemed he couldn't escape notice, official after official leaping on him with fanatical gusto, businessman after businessman attempting desperately to convince him to part with some of his gold to their benefit. Malfoy himself passed by no less than three times, once in silent appraisal, once inquiring after his mother and finally to pose the question he'd obviously been yearning to; what were his plans now that Hogwarts was over?

Henry lifted the champagne flute to his lips, eyes impassively closed, ignoring the eyes that still feasted upon him from every angle. Over a hundred fools convinced that youth meant naivety and an eighteen year old billionaire a pigeon ripe for plucking.

Imbeciles.

If they only knew that he could recognise and recite each and every face by name, followed by their wealth, connections and affiliations. The businesses they either possessed or worked for, the charities they patronised, those that were up and coming, the others that simply hung on tight and hoped for a free ride. If only they realised he hand taken over the reins of his estates at the age of twelve, with Professor Dippet's reluctant consent, and had secretly managed most of his affairs before then.

But the question Malfoy had posed and that he himself had smoothly avoided answering, was one that nevertheless occupied much of his thoughts.

What would he do now?

Almost unconsciously his emotionless gaze turned back to impassively survey Monroe's face. She was surrounded now, by a group of important members of the Ministry, all listening to her in interest and admiration.

Her opinions on his future had been as stubbornly adamant as they had been vocally expressed. Such talent as his could not be allowed to waste away in the lap of luxury, behind accounting books and private yachts. Yes, he had enough money to live the life of a millionaire until he died; she had vehemently declared it would both selfish and cowardly to do so when so many people could benefit from his genius.

When he'd asked her with biting politeness what she deemed a valid plan for his future she'd replied instantly.

"An Auror, _evidement_!"

The memory flashed through his mind even as he watched her throw back her head in deep, husky laughter. Her gaze had been level and innocently bland, as though oblivious to his irritated sarcasm, her arms folded across her chest and her chin lifted in pure defiance.

His lip had curled, much as it was doing now in fact, watching her lay a confiding hand on the Head of the Auror Department's arm. Basilius Crouch was listening to her impassioned speech with the air of one struck dumb in admiration. Henry recognised that fierce yet charming intensity, and without even touching her mind, he could guess the subject of their discussion.

Only debating and defending Muggle and Muggle-born rights could bring that look into her eyes. They burned with fire and brilliance, as she tilted her head and nodded to one of the men's answer. She acknowledged the point, that was certain, but already her eyes were narrowing shrewdly. Sure enough, her lips opened prettily, she parried the blow and, by the faint flush on the other man's cheeks, slipped under his guard like the champion fencer she was.

The group erupted with laughter; Moniqua merely smiled, the picture of youth and sweet, demure innocence. Henry's lips twitched despite himself. As always, the minx was attacking on every front, using every advantage from the element of surprise to the sudden transformation back into a pretty, not-yet-eighteen year old, barely out of school.

"I sense you sympathise with them, my dear boy."

Henry turned at the familiar voice, his face unreadable.

"Sir." he inclined his head in neither affirmation nor denial.

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes were twinkling in frank merriness. A champagne flute was held lightly in his long fingers and his robes were a magnificent waterfall of silver and deepest indigo. His beard as ever was tucked into his belt and a French beret flashed red, white and blue on his silver head. Henry resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the Dumbledore followed his impassive gaze and, with a chuckle, flicked the awful thing with his free hand. The famous march of _La Marseillaise _began to play.

"I was merely suggesting Mr Potter, that Miss Monroe is well on her way to converting over half of the Ministry to her cause. You may well be left in the minority."

Henry's voice was rigidly polite.

"I have nothing against either Muggles or Muggle-Borns, Professor."

"Only against their champion?"

The knowing smile on the older man's face awakened the faintest of irritation. He opened his mouth to speak the biting retort hovering on his lips but Dumbledore cut him of with an innocent beam.

"It was nevertheless good of you to come and support her. I am sure she very much appreciated it." he said jovially. "Now I must try one of those sugared fairy-wings. Before they all disappear into our dear Professor Slughorn's mouth."

In a flurry of robes the Headmaster was gone and Henry was torn between relief at being free from the old man's kindly meant but pointless insinuations and a reluctant acceptance that Dumbledore at least was maybe the only person in the room who actually talked to him for a reason other than mercenary gain.

Instinct rather than intention was already turning his head. She was moving again, excusing herself from the circle of gentlemen with a polite word and a charming smile; they pressed her to stay but she was determined, and after another light laugh, they finally waved her away with disappointed sighs.

Her lithe, muscular figure slipped deftly through the crowd with the grace of a born athlete. The dress hugged her curves, the thin straps highlighting the toned, hard sinew of her arms, so different from most of the slim but soft pureblood ladies who lounged around all day playing instruments or sewing. She moved with purpose, silver stilettos tapping the floor in the same arrogant march she'd had since the day he'd met her.

Then, suddenly a face from the crowd called out to her and she turned her ebony head instantly. The young man barely had time to open his arms before the French Captain threw herself into them, hands wrapping round his neck as he swung her round, earning them startled glances that turned into knowing looks and significant nods.

Henry's fist was suddenly tight around the fold black folds of his robes, his arms rigid across his muscular chest. The stranger put his welcomer down with a bright laugh that could have been the echo of hers, thick black curls cascading over his tanned brow into his eyes. Monroe wasn't satisfied; she pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his cheeks, right, left, right and then finally left again. Henry started back, realising that his feet had moved a step forward without him even noticing.

Monroe's smile was brighter than he'd seen it the entire evening as she tucked her hand into the youths and chattered rapidly away to him, so fast it could only be French. Henry's jaw abruptly clenched. He was from her home country. It was hardly surprising. That golden glow and shining black hair could only be Mediterranean. And they seemed to know each other very well. _Very_ well for her to be smiling like that.

All at once Henry turned on his heel and sought out the door. He had a business meeting tomorrow morning with numerous agents of his, another with his steward at ten, before visiting Gringots about setting him up a third vault. The other two were quite simply overflowing. Then he had to pick up Ethan from his crony, Kit's house which would result in being forced to relive each and every instant of the match through their relentless babbling.

Christopher or, as he was better known, Kit's mother had relieved him from the nightmare of allowing his brother to accompany him, by taking both boy's herself along with their other two friends, something for which he was eternally grateful. The tickets for six people had been coaxed out of him with an alarming lack of difficulty. The kid was obnoxiously charming, never more so than when he wanted his own way, and Henry felt no real resentment towards his half-brother, but unleashing him on the unsuspecting members of the Elite Pureblood society a year early he would not!

With all these thoughts swimming vaguely in the back of his mind, he strode towards the exit, nodding at the nearby house-elf who scuttled instantly to his side.

"Sire?" the creature bobbed obligingly, tennis ball eyes wide and eager. Henry hesitated for the briefest instant.

"My coat, if you, plea…"

"You can not be leaving _déja_?"

Iridescent lids closed over hazel eyes. He wondered if he would always know that voice anywhere, still faintly accented, unusually deep and at that moment, sharp and incredulous. Henry turned to meet her brilliant black eyes, narrowed slightly in uncertainty. A hesitant half-smile floated on her lips.

"I'm sorry. Greeting the room takes a while but, after that, I mean…I hoped that by leaving you till last, we could maybe catch up…without people interrupting every five seconds to plague me with this or that offer for sponsorship."

Her tone was self-mocking, her outward posture completely at ease but he could feel the tension coming off her. That faint hint of nervousness that somehow disconcerted him.

"After only four weeks of absence I doubt there's much to catch up on." his tone was automatically cold, a reflex action that nevertheless seemed oddly wrong. But she laughed it off, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Maybe. But who knows; something cataclysmic might have occurred during those four weeks. Like you deciding to get a job."

The innocent smile was a taunt, but not malicious so the biting edge to his voice when he replied shocked even himself.

"Or like you getting engaged?"

Her eyes turned round in what could only be point-blank astonishment. He curled his lip at her from his greater height.

"Or perhaps I am premature. In any events I cannot stay. Regardless of your opinion on what qualifies as a job, I nevertheless have affairs needing my attention."

"I…"

" I offer you my congratulations, Miss Monroe, on a superb match and thank you for your generosity in providing the invite."

His politeness was biting, his bow was hypnotising in it's grace. Before Moniqua could do more than blink he had thrown a significant glance at the waiting house-elf who immediate disappeared with a pop, only to return a second later carrying a heavy greatcoat. The sight of him shrugging it over his broad shoulders made her shake her head and step forwards with a frown

"Potter, what are you talking about? Engaged? But to who, _enfin_?"

He was rearranging the froth of white lace at his throat, carefully retying the elegant folds but at this he looked down at her with such a cynical curve of the lips it was almost a sneer, she registered in bemusement.

"I'm sorry, I really must be leaving."

Her foot stamped in temper, and the familiar gesture was enough to make him pause, half-turned away. The simple movement brought back a flood of memories and for the briefest moment something in him clenched as he realised, once he walked out that door, that was all they would be.

She was glaring at him furiously, a glimmer of wetness in those slow eyes and it puzzled him. Then she was opening her purse and stuffing something into his hand. He glanced down at the sheaf of papers impassively.

"And this is?"

Her gaze locked with his, too brilliant but hard as iron.

"Probably just a forlorn hope. But I had a friend of mine bring it for you anyway."

Henry unfolded the wad of papers, and exhaled in comprehension as the first words leapt out at him.

"Monroe…" he began, the faintest hint of frustration in his tone, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Just take them! There's still another week till the deadline, probably longer in your case." she finished with a touch of irony. He stared down at her, his face rigid but his eyes burning with golden fires.

"If you are so intent on making the world a better place Monroe, why, might I ask, don't _you _sign up?"

Her laugh was unexpected, his brows lowered into a frown as she shook her head at him as one might do to a slow toddler.

"Some genius you are, Potter. My contract runs on for another three years. Once it's over, I intend to." A tiniest hint of colour tinged her cheeks. "Imbecile."

Henry stared at her, for once his tightly controlled mask slipping as a sudden unwelcome realisation suddenly burst through his highly acute brain like sunshine through the clouds. But it couldn't be true. It was impossible. He had to be mistaken. Henry took a step back, away from the girl and swallowed slowly. Finally he spoke, low and unreadable,

"I'll think about it." he said, and placed the documents carefully in his greatcoat pocket.

Moniqua's answering smile seemed to dazzle like sunbeam on water. Then it faded, to be replaced by one of businesslike determination. She held out her hand and said just a little forcedly.

"Well then, I guess for now…this is goodbye." her chin was lifted as proudly as ever, her jaw set and square as he hesitated before gracefully bringing it to his lips.

"_Ou plûtot, comme tu dirais Mademoiselle Monroe,"_

His lips curved into the tiniest of smiles.

_"Au revoir_."

Her face lit up in faint triumph at hearing him finally admit what she'd felt certain of all along; he did speak her language and he always had done, the stupid _enculé! _Then he was stepping away, her fingers slipping gently from his grasp as he bowed a final time, turned on his heel and strode gracefully out the door.

Moniqua let out the painful sigh she had been repressing and clasped her hands gracefully in front of her. Then she pinned the smile back onto her face, swung round on the spot and danced back to the crowd who welcomed her with laughter and open arms.

It would be two years before she would see him again.

* * *

**Ahhhhhhhh! Sorry but I do like this couple, it's terrible isn't it. Pffffff Oh well, please, forgive my big-headedness in loving my own characters. =) And I just one to say again, that some of this might make more sense after Chapter 26 is posted. It won't be long I promise lol. Anyway tell me what YOU think lol, and I'll be forever grateful ^^ **

**Translations:**

**_evidement:_ of course/evidently**

**_deja:_ already**

**_enfin:_ here it's a way to express frustration. In english I suppose you could compare it to "For Pete's sake!" (In general however it means finally)**

**_enculé: _bastard**

**_Ou plûtot, comme tu dirais Mademoiselle Monroe,":_ Or rather, as you would say, Miss Monroe,**

**_"Au revoir.": _Till we meet again**

**Luv ya loads!**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x x x **


	6. Chapter 6

**Heya all! Yes this isn't Chapter 27 like I promised because it isn't quite finished yet. =( I do apologise and blame it on the fact that for reasons very complicated, I am banned from bringing my computer home these holidays and therefore typing. This next scene in MJ and Henry's History was already written and therefore I could bring it with me on a USB key and put up from a friend's house. Pffff it's all good fun.**

**As I said this is "the next part" which takes place two years after "First Steps Chapter 5". Again I quite like it, because it shows a lot about the pair, more so Henry perhaps than Moniqua but that's mainly because we know what Moniqua's been doing for the past two years, where as Henry, well he was still undecided. But we catch a little glimpse into Moniqua's family and childhood, something that I will go into more during another "part" for want of a better word. There's still so much to explain about this couples background but I have to remember not to get ahead of myself and let slip a major spoiler for AOA, because as I said, MJ and Henry's history has a HUGE part to play in this story.**

**The pint I wish to make is that so far we've only seen glimpses of Henry from after MJ meets him. A lot of the mystery surround the time before this meeting and a little of it is hinted here, just as it will be hinted in Chapter 27. But Henry's childhood and resultant character is perhaps my most favourite part of this entire thing, however bigheaded that sounds. ^^**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy, tell me if you do or don't and bear with me for the next Chapter it might be next week rather than this one sigh, but as a show of good-will and an apology, I'll put up the very beginning of the chapter that happens to also be on this Key lol. ^^**

**Luv ya lots**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x**

* * *

The door was opened and closed softer than the sigh that escaped from the middle-aged man's frustrated throat. The man's head was bent over his heavy mahogany desk and was covered with a grisly shock of ginger hair that was just showing signs of grey. Without lifting his gaze from the paper he waved a large weather-beaten hand vaguely toward the seat in front of him.

"Sit, Potter."

The intruder sat. Sylvester Prewett finally looked up from under bushy, tigerish brows and it could be seen that the eyes beneath them had the same dangerous glint as that beautiful predator. Old this warrior certainly was, but the huge frame still rippled with power and experience as he leaned back in his chair to survey his young guest with a mixture of ire and a reluctant admiration.

"It seems I am to congratulate you on yet another successful mission." The irony was faint but unmissable. Its intended target however merely bowed his head, his young strikingly handsome face impassive as a mask.

"Sir."

The Deputy Head of the Auror Department exhaled in another deep, growling sigh.

"Tell me once more how the perpetrator decided to end his own life rather than submit gracefully to your arrest." Tawny and piercing, Sylvester's gaze could have seared through dragon-hide. The young man never even flinched.

"I apprehended the criminal half way through his thirteenth consecutive rape and murder of a muggle girl, Sir. His victim however saw me approaching and cried out for help alerting the man to my presence. His threatened to "Diffindo" her throat if I so much as moved a muscle."

Prewett nodded grimly, his narrowed eyes never leaving the other man's face.

"And then."

"Luck smiled on me; an owl flew past at that precise moment and startled him enough for the girl to break free. My Protego was fortunately quick enough to repel the curse he sent after her. The man saw there was no way out and rather than face the Dementor's Kiss he turned his wand upon himself. He sent a Reducto straight through his own heart."

The man named Potter paused, before continuing just a touch more deliberately.

"All of these facts can of course be proved by the victim's testimony, given before the modification of her memory and by the examination of the criminal's wand and my own. Both of which have already taken place, or so I have been informed."

The man ceased his cold, empty monologue as smoothly as he had begun, his face unreadable however hard his superior obviously tried. Finally, Sylvester Prewett let out a low growl.

"As always Potter, you are of course correct. The examinations validate your account of events as does the victim's statement. The only spell fired by your wand that night was the Protego Charm you mentioned and then a brief healing spell on the girl's body."

The words triggered no reaction from their intended object and Prewett reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a cigar. Lighting the end of it with his wand, he chewed on it thoughtfully, eyeing the man opposite him from under his heavy brows.

" Three others of my best Aurors made little or no headway in tracking down this lowlife. You on the other hand completed the mission in less than a fortnight. As your superior I have to express a certain reluctant admiration."

Chestnut hair gleamed as the man tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment.

"I'll be frank with you Potter. When my superiors told me you'd been fast-tracked through your Auror training in under half the usual time, I was doubtful to say the least. Pissed off might be a more accurate term. Young, smart-arsed kids who think that a little talent makes them cut out for what we go through every day, do not impress me one little bit. Especially not ones who could buy ten such promotions with their monthly allowance from Daddy's trust-fund."

Sylvester's hawk-like gaze could have drilled a hole through his guest's forehead but the twenty-year-old didn't even blink. The cranky old tiger nodded in approval. As one of the few who knew some of the details behind Charlus Jasper Potter's unexpected death just over fourteen years ago, he could have forgiven the kid from showing just a flicker of anger. But after five months of the youth's acquaintance, the complete lack of reaction didn't even surprise him.

"When I reluctantly signed you on to Vance's squad I thought you'd last a week, maybe two. What I didn't expect was for you to become one of our very best and brightest stars in the just less than half a year that you've been under my command."

It was these words and these words alone that brought the first hint of emotion to that attractive face since the interview had begun. Deep, fathomless hazel eyes flickered with a barest hint of pride mixed with respect. It pulled the old Auror's lips up into a grim smile.

"I won't lie to you, Potter. I've never had someone like you in my Department. Hell, we've had someone like you in the entire Ministry. If I'm honest, it wouldn't surprise me to see you as Minister for Magic before I die, maybe even before I retire. You're something special, kid. You also scare the bloody shit out of me."

Potter replied with just a touch of irony.

"Thank You, Sir."

The gnarled slash of a grin across the fifty-year old's face widened, his tiger eyes shrewd and knowing.

"When they told me your power readings were off the charts I didn't believe it. When they told me you possessed a type of wand that, to all Wizarding knowledge, had disappeared over a thousand years ago, I had to come and see it for myself. You're the most powerful dueller I've ever seen, your intelligence and astuteness is beyond anything I've ever encountered. Add to this pretty looks and one of the biggest inheritances in England and this world is your oyster. What I don't know and what frankly terrifies me, is what you actually want."

Potter's brows descended a fraction.

"I'm not sure I follow."

The Deputy Head sighed, tapping his quill lightly on the desk. When he finally continued, it was with a rare carefulness.

"What are your ambitions, Potter? You joined my team of Aurors and you have fulfilled that role to a standard nothing short of perfection. You have assisted in twelve squad missions whose success were all, according to your Squad Leaders, due almost entirely to your own exceptional conduct. You have been promoted to the position of solo Auror in an unheard of three months, after which you have completed three successful tracking and retrieval assignments and one stake-out. Finally you have served for two weeks as body guard to no lesser person than the Russian Minister of Magic himself who, I might add, as already offered you five times your current salary to continue in that role permanently. In short, Potter, you have made history. In less that ten years I expect you to have handed my job on to an underling and replaced Basilius as Head of this Department."

"But I must ask myself; where then will you go? Will you be content or will you yearn for still more? Will you stay as merely an advisor to the Minister or will you seek to replace him also? Do you even truly have a goal, or do you simply amuse yourself for the present in playing the role of Auror until it bores you?"

The man's final words finally tightened the prodigy's jaw, his hazel eyes almost flashed but nothing in his light drawl indicated the anger that Sylvester could finally sense simmering behind that stone façade.

"I do this job Sir, because I was told that it would be both selfish and cowardly not to when I had ability and so many had need. Having accepted, I do it as I do everything in life, to the very best of my ability. If you deem this insufficient reason then rest assured, when that person is free to come and to join your ranks herself, I shall relinquish my place to her knowing that her reasons and motifs for doing so are ones you _would_ deem as valid. Namely the consuming desire to help those in need and defend anyone unable to protect themselves."

The spark of anger had long disappeared, the words were as cold as ice and smooth as silk.

"Until that day, all I ask for is to continue serving yourself, Mr Crouch and the Ministry to the best of my ability."

Silence hung heavy in the air, as the two men simply looked at each other, old and young, superior and underling and yet it was Sylvester who turned his gaze away first. He growled low and deep in his throat rubbing his forehead in sudden weariness.

" And when this person comes you will waltz back to your estates and your affairs without a second glance. Tell me why the hell you made us waste good time and resources training you when you intend to bugger off at the first opportunity?"

The frustration bit. Prewett's amber eyes were fierce and deadly.

"Because in the time between that day and now, I will have accomplished more for you and this department than most aurors will achieve in twenty years. The skill, the power and the intelligence you believe I posses are at your deposal. I will spare none of it in accomplishing any task you set me."

"Until the day you leave."

"Until the day I allow a braver, more devoted and more ardent individual to take my place. Belief in one's cause is a strength no power or skill can match."

The older man's expression was one of reluctant acceptance, but there was a new thoughtful look in his eyes as he resumed the tapping of his quill against the hardwood surface.

"Why not stay? Help this…person that you would do so much for."

A ghost of a smile curved the corners of Potter's mouth.

"Believe me Sir, when I say that such a thing would result in a clash that could burn down the entire Ministry."

Prewett's bristly eyebrows raised in faint amusement and a great deal of curiosity.

"You don't get along?" He questioned in bemusement,

"I can safely say that there is no person in this world with the capacity to aggravate and infuriate me more."

Potter's answer was as emotionless as the grave, his handsome face all at once completely closed. His expression did not invite further questions and with one last shrewd swift look, Sylvester changed the subject.

"I guess I'll just have to make the most of you while I can. Right. Well I didn't bring you in here just to chat, Potter."

"I didn't think you did, Sir."

The Deputy Head shot him a swift bushy-browed glare.

"Less cheek, lad. Genius or not you're still to all intents and purposes my lackey until I say otherwise."

Sylvester's glare challenged his protégé to state otherwise but Potter's face was inscrutable.

"Now, tomorrow night there's a Gala being thrown at the Nimbus Racing Broom Company Headquarters. The Auror Department has been asked to provide security. Usually I'd tell them where to stick it but Jasper Nimbus is a good friend of mine and so as it happens is his new sponser-ee. So I'm taking you, as well as nine others down there to police the place. Fancy dress-robes required but try to find something that restricts your movement as little as possible. It seems MJ's upset a few of the pureblood fanatic groups and tonight she plans to top it all off with unveiling her plans for Flying Lessons during the school holidays reserved only for Muggle-borns. I don't think they'll try anything but it never hurts to be sure. Follow any Quidditch?"

"No."

The faint distaste in his tone brought a wry smile to the older man's lips.

"You may find yourself changing that opinion. MJ's a pretty sweet talker. She might bring you round."

"I highly doubt it."

The youth's nostrils were ever so slightly pinched, the contempt in his voice a little stronger as he drawled.

The gleam in Prewett's eye didn't fade, but beside a deep, husky laugh he didn't press the matter, secretly curious to know how his impenetrable, aloof prodigy would react to the girl's ludicrous charm. It was an evil gleam, one had been passed down to all his children from his eldest Ignatius to sharp-tongued Muriel to the twins Falco and Geoffrey who had perhaps cultivated it best of all. But a second the later the glint of pure mischief was gone, the Deputy Head of the Auror Department was as brusque and blunt as ever.

"The Portkey's leaving at nine p.m. precisely. One minute late and you're left behind."

Potter repressed the urge to roll his eyes; the protocol was the same for every mission.

"At the party I want you to try and keep your head down but still mingle. Chat with pretty girls, drink with some of the guys and do it all with your ears wide open. I want to know who's there out of obligation, who's there to support and who's there to make trouble. As my best up-and-coming I want you to stay as close to MJ as you can. The others will be stationed discreetly around the perimeter and at the main exits."

"Yes Sir. When will you introduce me to your friend?"

Sylvester grinned a wolfish smile.

"Don't miss a trick do ya, Potter. You're right; I'll politely take you along when I go up to greet Jasper and MJ. Let them know who you are and who'll be looking out them. Jasper and I go way back; no one will blink if I stick to him for the whole evening. As for you, MJ's a pretty girl; you wouldn't be the first to hang on her every word like a love-struck fool."

Sylvester's evil genius cackled inwardly again as the shudder of distaste momentarily convulsed the youth's chiselled features.

"At any rate, your job is to keep an eye on her; whether you do that by monopolising her attention or simply by shadowing her footsteps is your own affair."

"Have you given any thought Sir, to the reaction the media with have if I am seen to, as you put it, "monopolise" the attention of any female of marriageable age?" Potter asked dryly. Sylvester scratched his stubbled chin.

"I suppose it might cause a bit of a stir." He allowed finally. This time the youth did roll his eyes.

"It would cause something akin to an uproar."

The glare he received in return was almost ferocious.

"Unfortunately Potter, your being the biggest catch on the Magical Marital Market is something I can do nothing about. If your fear of scandal is going to preclude you from any assignment where someone might actually catch a glimpse of you, you can grab your quill and replace Susie as my secretary instead. Your choice."

The young man's face could have been carved in stone.

"I would prefer to retain my current position, Sir."

"Wonderful. Now get out of here and tell Vance and McKinnon that I want the top four from both their squads, plus themselves to be ready and dressed for nine tomorrow night. You can have the day off to visit your tailors."

The huge, roar of a laugh echoed round the office and Henry Potter rose to his feet with inimitable grace.

"Till tomorrow then, Sir."

And with that, he turned and strode out the door.

* * *

The ballroom of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company shone with the lights of a thousand suns.

It was in every respect a gathering of the PureBlood Elite. A thousand famous faces twirled and twittered like songbirds, flutes of the finest Champagne in the fingers and wide smiles painted, either true of fake onto each and every visage. The ladies had discarded their robes to tantalize the men with low-rising bodices and curve-clinging skirts, and the gentlemen feasted their eyes with an obliging obedience. Cravats were tied in various styles from the Waterfall to the Oriental, the intricate folds of white lace invariably held in place with a gleaming gem. Some of the wealthiest families in England were wasting no opportunity to flaunt their unmarried and unattached offspring, and never more so than when the young heir to the Potter fortune passed by.

Henry moved with a grace that seemed as fluid as oil on water. His height and muscled build did not aid in discretion, and most demoiselles that glanced at his face as he strode by, could not help but stare longingly at his retreating back.

Robes of midnight black flowed from his shoulders, the shirt and dress pants beneath them were flawless and the cravat round his neck could only have been tied by a master of the art. As that single lock slipped forward over his brow, witches sighed with itching fingers. The only mar to his perfection was the expression on those chiselled features that could only really be called disinterest.

Escaping from the clutches of yet another greedy businessman, the twenty year old couldn't help but roll his eyes. The eighteen months of Auror training had meant segregation from the polite world until its completion, and on returning to it, Henry felt a twinge of irritation that he hadn't slowed his pace to cover the full three years. At least he wouldn't be wading his way through hoards of clinging and ingratiating human beings.

With a faint frown of frustration he avoided another eagle-eyed reporter and instead made his way to the wine-bar in an attempt to ferret out his absent superior. Sylvester had disappeared into the masses with the intention of sniffing out the Founder of NBC and his newest star who believed them-selves to be Merlin's gift to the Wizarding World. Twenty minutes later, the gristly-haired man hadn't yet returned. Henry accepted the glass of Crewe and sipped it, his hazel eyes scanning the crowds watchfully over the rim of the crystal.

The barman was of medium height and chunky build, innocuous enough to blend in with the crowd and slip easily from memory. His years could have been anything from twenty-five to thirty-five; only the knowing tilt to his mouth when he smiled indicated that perhaps the individual was sharper than his bland appearance let on. His large hands were polishing another Waterford flute, and as Henry glanced once more around the ballroom, he replaced the one taken and filled it with the sparkling liquid without taking his eyes of the other man. He seemed to hesitate, before finally saying casually

" Looking for someone?"

Henry turned, beautifully styled chestnut locks glowing under the array of candles and his voice dangerously calm.

" Perhaps you may be of assistance." He eventually replied, "Have you seen Mister Nimbus yet this evening?"

The barman's brown eyes widened slightly at the silken tone, looking Henry up and down in reappraisal.

"Not yet, Sir," he emphasised carefully, "But the evening's barely begun. Most of the important peeps 'aven't yet arrived."

Henry nodded, sweeping the room once more.

"If you spot him, do me the favour of alerting me would you?

The barman's curiosity was obvious now, but he surrendered to a friendly impulse and said a little warningly

"Mister Nimbus…isn't one to take well to people coming up to him, I'm afraid. Per'aps you'd best ask for someone to introduce you. The Mister has a stinging set down for those who offend his notions of propriety."

He took his Henry's gently lifted brow and added hastily.

"Not that it's any of my business, o'course."

But the look in Henry's eye was, oddly enough rather amused and certainly not unfriendly.

"I didn't catch your name?"

"Tom, sir." The barman replied cautiously, reaching under the counter to grab a rag and wipe down the spotless mahogany counter. Henry's uncannily acute gaze never wavered from the man's bent head.

"Tom." He paused, the low rich voice held a hint of curiosity. "You're a muggle-born."

It was a statement, not an inquiry and two small spots of red appeared over Tom's cheekbones. He shot the younger man a sharp glare but almost immediately lowered his gaze back to the shining counter he was now polishing with renewed rigour. His reply was hard but controlled.

"Aye."

Something flickered in Henry's hazel eyes, some rare glimpse of emotion as they lowered apologetically to the gleaming surface. When he finally relied, each word seemed to have been chosen with immense care.

"You must be exceptionally skilled to overcome the overwhelming level of prejudice that still reigns in our society."

Tom lifted his head, eyeing the man with a mixture of shrewdness and caution. Henry met his gaze coolly, his face devoid of any emotion save a faint pensiveness, as though appraising the man and finding himself unexpectedly impressed. The barman didn't look away, and after a long moment Tom's defensive expression relaxed into a wry grin.

"Much obliged. How did you know?"

The corner of Henry's mouth twitched and Tom blinked in surprise.

"You are the only person in this entire establishment who does not recognise Henry Charlus Potter when you see him."

"Sir?" Tom's eyes widened abruptly.

"And yet in spite of possessing no knowledge of my identity, you took it upon yourself to look out for me. An almost unprecedented occurrence I assure you."

Toms cheeks were scarlet by now and he tried desperately to stammer out a garbled apology but Henry cut him off with flick of his hand.

"Tell me more about yourself Tom. Do you have permanent employment?"

Tom swallowed, fighting to overcome his lingering embarrassment.

"I 'elp out at the Hogs-Head in Hogsmede, sir."

Henry frowned so slightly most wouldn't have even noticed.

"I doubt Dumbledore's disgraced brother would put himself out to recommend you for such a post. How then did you come to offer your services tonight?"

Tom's face broke out into a sudden smile.

"A friend, Sir. Who apparently likes the way I mix my…"

"Firewhiskey, Tom, _mon amie_, please! Before I strangle our beloved Head of International Magical Corporation with his own badly tied cravat!"

The voice that had interrupted was husky and musical and tinged with a hint of frustration but it was the unbearable familiarity that made Henry Potter simply freeze where he stood.

Tom was grinning down into the face of a raven-haired beauty, her lithe curves encased in a dress of deepest scarlet, her eyes more brilliant even than he remembered. She had gripped the side of the bar with tempestuous vigour, but the barman's easy smile of understanding already had her fingers unfurling into a relaxed mocking tap of the spotless surface.

She was exactly as he remembered and yet the ridiculous thump in his chest and the lump in his throat indicated that his brain had refused to do those memories justice. For perhaps the first time in his life, Henry Potter was lost for words.

Tom, the stupid idiot that he was, was eyeing his stumped expression with a grin so knowing, so wickedly amused that Henry's eyes flashed. But it was too late, the damage had been done and before Henry could slip unnoticed into the nearby circle of gentlemen, her head had turned, her mouth had fallen open and her eyes had met his in complete and utter shock.

The world, the room, the people around them seemed to have evaporated into nothing. All the pair could do was stare, first simply into each other's eyes but then blinking, darting away before travelling in irrepressible wonder over the other from head to toe, taking in every familiar detail and every obvious difference. Before finally locking gazes once more in silence.

* * *

The disbelief had passed and Henry's face was already moulding itself into the expressionless mask she remembered so well. His hair, still that glowing deep brown, was longer than it had once been, but the thick curl at the front was hanging arrogantly over his brow, as though daring every female in the room to obey the longing impulse and push it out of his eyes. His chest was broader, he was perhaps a little taller but his posture was inimitable, rigid and perfectly balanced as a dancer.

Moniqua felt the skin over her cheekbones darken by just a shade; he was without a doubt the most attractive specimen in the room.

But he was also speaking and despite the distraction his rich velvet tones caused, she forced herself to focus, to listen and to not make a fool out of herself.

"You managed to wean yourself from a First Growth Bordeaux? Miracles never cease."

Cool, mocking and unbelievably well-spoken, Moniqua found herself faced with exactly the same dilemma as she always had; to slap the self-satisfied prick or to snog the life out of him.

She compromised with a rueful half-laugh, eyeing his hard features still not quite believing it was really him. After two years of forcing him out of her mind, of refusing to inquire after his whereabouts or wellbeing, it didn't seem real, didn't seem possible, didn't…

Moniqua's heart sank in her chest as suddenly the sickle dropped. The smile twisted on her lips into a mangled grimace, he saw it and frowned in confusion but she didn't see, because there was only one way he could be here, dressed up to the nines and sauntering through polite society. Only if he hadn't gone.

There was a lump in her throat, she couldn't even force out a sarky reply. Disappointment weighed down on her like a tonne of bricks. He hadn't done it. She'd been so sure, so certain; so much blind stupid faith in him despite his arrogance and callousness; it still hadn't shaken her belief that he would do the right thing. But he hadn't. Because if he had he would be just starting his third and final year of training, not sipping champagne at a Gala.

He was still frowning, just the barest tilt of those immaculately shaped brows but for some reason it set a spark to kindle-wood and her temper blazed immediately. Her eyes flashed, hurt and ridiculous disappointment pushing the anger up to a fiery furnace and she turned sharply on her heel and made to storm away. But a steel grip around her forearm pulled her back before she'd taken a step.

" Monroe…" she wrenched her arm out of his hand with snarl, hair flying out like black smoke.

"_Lache moi_!" the hiss of loathing from her lips made him blink but she was already spitting more words at him, furious and incomprehensible.

"You selfish, hateful _fils d'une pute!_ Get away from me! I thought…but of course not! When does Henry Potter do something for one other than himself!"

There was a dangerous blackness clouding Henry's golden irises but Moniqua was too furious to care.

"I 'ope it's good and beautiful, your lovely life! I hope you've filled another three vaults at Gringots and I 'ope you're engaged top some rich _bourgeoise_ who only wants you for your fame!"

"Monroe," his voice was cold and cutting as a blade, " You are beyond your usual incoherent; you are raving."

She glared straight back at him, manicure hands clenched into fists, teeth grinding cheeks flushed with pure wrath. His face was carved in marble but his eyes burned with a black fire that would have had Sylvester himself cringing away in fear. A mere ten centimetres apart yet separated by a gulf the size of an ocean, the pair seemed to be surrounded by and aura of hatred that made Tom swallow in nervousness.

"And in between rolling in riches and burning galleons you could not send one letter! One Owl _parbleu_, to say how you go _espece de_ _sale egoiste! _You disgust me! _Me degoute, tu m'entend!"_

"If I was in the habit of uttering irrationally exaggerated statements I could almost echo that sentiment! Do you plan to inform me what has brought on this childish tantrum or has your fame and fortune simply turned your head to the point of losing it?"

Her breasts rose and fell quickly as she flashed back

"I thought you were in training! To become an Auror! I was so sure that you would go! But of course a spoilt little rich boy would never do something that didn't somehow serve his own purposes! You are as shallow and selfish and pig-like as ever, and I hate you!"

For a moment it seemed as though he would answer. His lips curled into a sneer that screamed such fury and disgust that inwardly she wanted to cry. He'd never looked at her like that, not even when she'd thrown a vase at his head in sixth year and however blazingly angry she was, the unrepressed loathing cut her like a knife. But instead of crushing her like a bug with his adder's tongue he closed his lips so firmly that they turned white.

He stood there rigid and shaking, before finally forcing his frame to bow. As he straightened up once more he breathed out with careful restraint and said smooth as silk

"As I believe I pointed out two years ago, Miss Monroe, my future is not yours nor anyone's concern but my own. If it did not occur to you that I took those papers simply to escape your ever constant badgering, then you have no one to blame save your own stupendous naivety. Now if you will excuse me, I will relive you of such a hateful, selfish, disgusting presence as my own. I wish you a good evening."

Moniqua could have called out for him to stop. She could have told him how she dreamed of him almost every night since they'd parted. How the one thing that had kept her going throughout the two years of absence was the burning hope that at the end of her contract, she would battle her way into the Auror Department until she could one day fight by his side to make this world the better place it could be. She could have told him it had been her dream since the first day she met him.

Instead, she watched him stride away, graceful and gorgeous and still trembling with bitter hostility. And as he slipped into the crowd out of sight, something in her chest seemed to tear savagely in two.

Some one called out to her from the masses, but it was Tom's concerned touch on her bare arm, echoing _his_, that made her lift her raven head and smile. The flash of white teeth was perhaps a little blinding, the dark black eyes too bright for normality but Moniqua Monroe moved towards the newcomer with every inch of her natural charm. The man bowed and complimented, his wife smiled with gracious condescension and Moniqua felt her formidable temper stir once more, bringing back to life, forcing her to remember who and where she was.

She was Moniqua Monroe and the hostess of this Gala and she would be damned if she would allow Henry Potter to spoil her night of Triumph.

* * *

Half an hour later, Jasper waved her over to his side with a wide, distinctly smug smile. She danced over to greet her sponsor with a huge hug, only pulling away so that he could present the man prowling like a tiger at his side. Moniqua's eyes opened in pure delighted surprise.

"Sylvester! You came! You came yourself!"

The ginger-haired man grinned down at her and swept her into a bear-like hug.

"How could I not, you little minx? Between the pair of you, you and Jasper have me wrapped around your little fingers."

Jasper Nimbus clapped his oldest friend on the man's huge back.

"I claim no part in it, Prewett. You have only your weakness for a pretty girl to blame."

All three laughed, and Moniqua tucked her hand confidingly into Sylvester's arm with a cheeky smile.

"But now you are here, the next step is to persuade you to dance. Please, Monsieur, an old acquaintance has turned up uninvited to my gala and has put me quite out of temper. Make me smile?"

Her lashes batted coyly up at him, her lips tilted downward in a soulful pout, but knowing the girl since the day she was born had largely inured him to her tricks. He let out a hearty shout of laughter and pinched her cheek, but his answer was as firm as his smile was rueful.

"No dancing, puss. Not unless you've flown out Cicero himself to play for me."

Moniqua frowned at him reprovingly.

"You will dance for Papa, but you will not dance with me." She said darkly, tapping her foot and folding her arms across her chest. "I find that most hurtful, _Monsieur_."

His arm crept affectionately around her waist, and the corners of her mouth twitched despite her determination not to let him win. But he saw the quivering lips and flicked her brown cheek pointedly, his gnarled face spreading into a triumphant grin.

"Don't you _Monsieur_ me, _ma mignon_. Your poor Papa threatened to castrate me a week before my wedding day when I politely informed him I did not intend to dance at the reception. He has merely to pick up a guitar and my traumatised, terrified body breaks obediently into a jig." Moniqua choke on the stifled giggle, and Jasper grinned appreciatively.

"In any case, I am sure that my replacement will be much more to your taste."

Moniqua huffed up at him, unconvinced but Sylvester cut off her protest smoothly.

"One of my youngest qualified aurors but also possibly my best. It will be his particular task to keep an eye on you, MJ, whilst I keep your sponsor alive and well."

He winked at Jasper who looked extremely pleased with himself. Moniqua looked merely resigned. She exhaled rather petulantly and shrugged her brown shoulders.

"He must follow me the entire evening?" She asked wearily. Sylvester raised a bushy brow.

"MJ, you wanted security…"

"Mister NIMBUS wanted security…"

"THEREFORE," Prewett overrode, "You will submit to my orders in regards to that security."

"But Sylvester…"

"End of story." He finished with a grim smile and a dangerous glint in his tawny eye, daring her to disagree. Recognising that glint of old, Moniqua sighed and submitted, before peeping mischievously up at the man who had been like an uncle to her since the day she'd been born.

"He'd better be handsome." She grinned naughtily, "I don't want an eyesore on my arm the entire night, I might have to…lose him somewhere."

Sylvester threw her a look that promised dire retribution if she carried out the threat but he couldn't quite repress the evil gleam as he nodded across the room over the heads of the crowd, a signal to a man Moniqua couldn't see. He waited with almost a wicked look on his weather-beaten features, muscular arms folded and resting on just the beginnings of a beer-belly. Moniqua waited with a look on her pretty face that was just as deliberately bland. The seconds ticked by, with Jasper shaking his blond head at the pair of them, when a low cough behind him made Sylvester turn with a welcoming grin.

"Ah, there you are Potter. Allow me to make you known to Jasper Nimbus and Moniqua Monroe," he threw Moniqua an affectionate wink, "MJ, Jasper, may I present Henry Potter."

The wink was lost, the words fell on deaf ears as Moniqua and Henry simply stared at each other, for the second that night, in complete and utter shock. The two older men waited for a moment before glancing curiously between the pair who had not yet broken eye contact. Finally Jasper Nimbus broke the awkward silence with a cough and saying deliberately loudly,

"You are too late Sylvester; Mister Potter and I are already well aquainted." The youth turned his stunned gaze away from the girl in front of him with obvious effort, "How are you Henry my dear boy"

Henry took the hand held out to him without a pause, grasping it a friendly way but his face remained rather pale about the mouth. He seemed to take a deep breath and replied with all his typical calm.

"Jasper. It has been too long, I fear, but Miranda keeps me informed of your success."

Jasper laughed genially, reassured that the brief moment of tension appeared to have passed.

"You are too modest Henry. My success is your success, if you have forgotten, I most certainly have not."

He noticed that both Sylvester and MJ were watching these interactions with expressions of bemusement and Jasper made haste to explain.

"Henry was the first and for a long time only businessman to invest in this company. Without him and his connections, Nimbus Racing Broom Company would be nothing but an unattainable dream. I will forever be in his dept however much he seeks to refute it."

Henry deliberately avoided his superior's eye, choosing instead to examine the ostentatious brooch in the shape of a racing broom that gleamed on Jasper's chest. The old warrior's fiery gaze burned into the left side of his face; on his right, Moniqua's brilliant black eyes never wavered from his. Not one to be easily discomforted, Henry coughed rather sheepishly and thankfully Sylvester took the hint and stepped in to lighten the moment.

"Right, well one learns a new thing everyday. Apart from being highly successful investor, Potter also happens to be my best up and coming auror…and the man I have assigned to your protection tonight MJ"

The blank look on his young friend's face briefly made him pause in surprise; he added with a rather malicious grin

"If you find him handsome enough, to be sure."

He could hardly believe his eyes when Moniqua Monroe, unflappable, charming and universally desired was now flushed as scarlet as her chiffon dress. She stared fixedly at the ground with her cheeks aflame and Sylvester, his curiosity now fully aroused, glanced again from one to the other. Henry's face could have been set in stone. With a darting look towards him, Moniqua finally forced out

"I'm sure he's perfectly capable."

Sylvester barely held back the laugh.

"Excellent! Now, I believe you expressed a desire to dance _ma mie_." Moniqua looked up in panic but Sylvester waved his young protégé blithely forward.

"Potter; the lady's wish is your command, am I clear?"

Henry Potter seemed to swallow but his voice was smooth as the finest silk.

"Crystal, Sir."

With impossible grace he stepped forward and held out his arm to the still flushing girl. Jasper Nimbus shot Sylvester a look that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Miss Monroe, if you would do me the honour."

Moniqua's lids pressed shut but she took the outstretched forearm with a tolerable attempt at composure. Her other hand picked up the crimson folds of her skirts and her chest rose and fell in a deep steadying breath. If her fingers tightened and spasmned on his robes he didn't point it out and if Henry's jaw was still rigidly clenched Moniqua didn't comment. Not under the two older men's knowing gazes.

* * *

Henry bowed to both Nimbus and Prewett, allowed Moniqua time to curtsey before leading her away as fast as possible.

The pair made their way through the masses towards the middle of the room, where a space was gradually clearing as the musicians struck up. They made a magnificent couple, but too obviously for their both their liking, as they determinedly ignored the whispers that grew louder and louder with each step they took.

Henry stopped in the very centre of the floor, releasing his hold on her arm to guide her round until she stood poised and beautiful before him. Around them, other couples were following their lead, and as the musicians paused in readiness, the pair locked gazes and almost inperceptively breathed deeply in.

Moniqua stepped forward, Henry rested his hand on her bare back and their fingers joined in a light hold. Jasper Nimbus lifted his hands and clapped them once. The orchestra began to play.

For the first minute all Moniqua could concentrate on were her steps and his cravat. He danced as perfectly as he did everything else; she had learnt and loved the waltz almost from the moment she could walk. They outshone every other couple without even trying and Polite Society stared in growing wonder. The two twenty year-olds ignored them all, using the movement as a release for all the bottled-up tension that had simmered silently below the surface ever since their unexpected earlier reunion. But the silence could not hold forever, not unless they wanted the onlookers to make more of the dance than what it was, and so finally Moniqua cleared her throat uncomfortably and voiced the thought that had been revolving in her mind ever since Sylvester had "introduced" them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she said in a small voice.

Henry did not immediately answer, but she felt his hold around her tighten slightly as though suppressing an impulse to put her away from him. She swallowed and fell silent once more, her cheeks pink and her eyes never wavering from her fixed scrutiny of his shirt until his smooth, silken tones made her lift her head.

"You feel you gave me the opportunity?" he drawled with heavy irony.

Moniqua winced and stared at her feet in shame as the truth of his words hit home. Still, lying was not in her vocabulary, so she took a deep breath and replied albeit with a little difficulty.

"No. I did not. I barely allowed you to speak before becoming completely enraged." Self-loathing and shame stuck in her throat; she forced the rest out angrily "It was stupid and irrational and ridiculous and…"

Her breath caught in a faint furious gasp.

"And I beg your pardon."

Henry made no reply, the smooth, square line of his jaw never dropped and Moniqua's heart sank a little more with each silent revolution. In what seemed like only seconds, the music lilted sweetly in a final trill and ceased. The dancers drew apart, bowed and curtsied to their respective partners, before clapping and smiling with the delighted onlookers. Henry and Moniqua did as much, but their hands clapped together merely once or twice before Moniqua desperately summoned the last of her self-control and lifted her chin with that old familiar defiance.

"I understand that you will wish to reassign another to the torture of tolerating my company. I thank you for the dance and can only say once again; I am sorry for both my stupidity and my unforgivable rudeness."

She would have said more had not her companion done the most unexpected thing in the world. Henry Potter rolled his eyes and pulled her smoothly back into his arms. In a daze Moniqua registered that the orchestra was readying for the next piece, slow, sultry and sensual, and Henry's clasp on her skin became just a little tighter.

"A Tango, if my memory serves me, Miss Monroe."

He murmured quietly in her ear, and she could feel goose bumps creeping up her neck at his nearness. Moniqua swallowed, this time from something more than just nerves, something that sent familiar tingles over her skin and she shivered in a way she hadn't since they'd parted two years ago.

The music was rich and Spanish; it called to her blood, and as the couples began to dance, her body moved as though by instinct.

Each turn was sharp and dramatic, his grip turned from iron to steel as his leading became harsher, pure masculinity wrenching her body around the floor with a strength that could have hurt but didn't. Instead it inflamed her, brightening her eyes and parting her lips with passion as she snapped her head around, throwing her curls like a velvet cape.

The speed picked up, they were revolving faster and faster, matched and seamless as though they had danced together all their lives and planned to dance together for the rest. The violins ground out the melody, each sharp repetitive beat echoed by the clash of her heels against the floor. He bent her so low over his arm that she almost brushed her skirts, before yanking her back against his chest and driving them into another beautifully precise staccato promenade.

The other couples were allowing them space as still the speed accelerated, along with both their breathing, so that her breasts rose and fell enticingly, her cheeks stained pink with exhilaration, contrasting with her usual gold and his flawless cream.

The last crescendo burned and rose like a pillar of fire. Henry grasped her hand and whirled her out of his embrace so that her scarlet skirts slashed through the air like streaks of blood or wine before finally twisting her body back into his once more, head snapping, raven curls a-fly. The music shattered one last time, one last provocative tendril of melody and the couple finished, back to quivering back, as the last drum clanged.

Moniqua gasped, first for air, and then again in shock as his beautiful head bent next to hers so that his hot breath caressed her ear.

"Lesson 1: Reassigning tasks on a mission is something only the Squad Leader has the power to do. Whatever your personnel feelings for the subject may be," Moniqua winced at the lack of feeling in his tone. "Or indeed theirs for you, your job as an auror is to protect their life with your own if needs be."

He paused, watching the other couples step apart and make their bows, before saying just a touch of acid.

"Therefore, despite your professed loathing for me, I shall remain at your side until this assignment ends. Thus, I offer you my own apology, Monroe, in advance for inflicting my unwanted presence upon you for the duration of this evening."

He was letting her go, drawing her around so that once more she faced him, seemingly oblivious to the flash of indignation on her face. But before she had time to reply he had cut her off, smooth and gallant as he said

"A drink perhaps, or would you rather take a turn on the terrace?"

Moniqua nodded grimly, her eyes brilliant and her lips bursting to say all the things she was desperately holding back, but he was right. They couldn't have this out on the dancefloor, not to either of their satisfaction, and if he wanted to play her date for the evening then taking a romantic stroll in the gardens would be completely natural. So she held her tongue and allowed him to lead her to the edge of the floor and into the crowd, stopping only to greet and smile at the many people who congratulated the pair of their remarkable dancing.

With a nod and a bow the couple moved towards the elegantly guilded door, Henry having no difficulty carving a passage through the throng, a fact that made Moniqua roll her eyes in the gesture she'd picked up from him. A touch on the shoulder, a word in someone's ear and they parted like the Red Sea before Moses.

Typical.

* * *

The fresh night air was beautifully cool and relieving on her face and Moniqua tilted her head up to the sky with a sigh of pleasure. The breeze ruffled her hair, and she lifted a brown hand to push it out of her eyes, before lowering her gaze to the man standing a little to her left.

He was framed by the white silhouette of the fountain, so that the water seemed almost to cascade onto his shoulders and behind them was a pretty green landscape, separated from the terrace by a stone wall that only reached to a man's thigh. Trees waved in the distance and one paticular beech was close enough that she could all but touch it, but the sky was cloudy and the stars all but invisible. Still the faint glow from the crescent moon gave enough light to see by, and the hard expression on his face was all too plain.

His hazel eyes were as black as hers in the dim light; dark and dangerous and clearly unforgiving, they never wavered from her face. Moniqua fought back a swallow as her hands gripped the folds of her skirts sporadically, clenching and unclenching as she tried desperately to calm her breathing. Half of her hoped he would speak, breaking the silence and the tension, but the other, more honest half knew she had only herself to blame for this coldness and so, with a deep breath, she forced her lips to part.

"Potter, I am…_so_…sorry for my behaviour earlier. Please, forgive me."

He didn't even blink, his reply empty of anything but faint boredom.

"It is already forgotten Miss Monroe."

Her half-laugh startled him into frowning slightly, wary of the bitter, almost hysterical note in her voice.

"Forgotten perhaps but not forgiven. "

He didn't reply and so she continued, the words falling from her lips almost in desperation.

"Please, Potter, you know I didn't mean a word. It was atrocious, appalling, and most of all a blatant lie. I don't even know why I reacted that way; I was just so… When I didn't here from you I couldn't help but think that you'd done what I asked you to, that you'd listened to me, respected me, were willing to do so much just for silly spoiled brat like me…and then, when it seemed like you hadn't, that you'd just disappeared off the face of the earth to avoid me…"

Henry broke in succinctly.

"Don't be so ridiculous. You think I would turn into a hermit simply to avoiding your constant harassment. You overestimate yourself."

Moniqua flushed, but the blatant sneer sparked her temper and she gritted her teeth and bit back

"You'd been absent from any social gathering for almost two years, apparently NOT for the reason I thought. Forgive me for not knowing what to think!"

Henry's lip curled a little more, his hands rigid at his side as though furiously preventing them from clenching into fists. He turned sharply around to face the fountain so that only his broad back was visible. His face still averted he cut back

"I beg to differ. Your defamation of my character seemed remarkably well thought through. You must have had much difficulty repressing such a level of loathing for me throughout our school years."

Moniqua opened her mouth and took a step forward in indignation but Henry didn't turn around. So she spoke to his back, stamping her foot in sheer temper at his male stupidity as she breathed heavily.

"_Ca suffit!_ _Enfin_, Potter you who think yourself so clever, you are truly stupid!"

This time he did turn round, his mouth tightly compressed but his eyes flashing with gold fire.

"I beg your pardon."

Moniqua stormed forward until she was close enough to glare up into his striking face, which she did so, hands on her hips, locking gazes with him in a clash of iron wills.

"_Oui, TOI!_ You are a genius they say but you do not see the obvious even when it is placed under your long nose! I do not hate you, foolish imbecile that you are! _Parbleu,_ I wish I did!"

Suddenly all the strength seemed to leak out of her. Her smooth gold shoulders slumped, her head tilted up to the heaviness before lowering once more to shake almost sadly. The white-hot anger in Henry's eyes had vanished, replaced by a frown of confusion as he tried to decipher her outburst with little success. She spoke her final words softly to her feet, and the embarrassment seemed to twist her tongue into knots..

"Saying "I hate you"; it is much more easy…than saying… "I missed you much."

A long silence fell, so that only their heartbeats counted the passing seconds, soft and slow but somehow anticlimactic. Discomfort hung like a void between them; too much had been said to turn back now, but too little to navigate through the heavy tension and move forward.

Henry's tongue slipped out to wet his lips in a gesture that indicated nervousness she'd never seen in him before. It fascinated her; she couldn't help but stare, and the muscle in his smooth cream throat contracted before her eyes as he swallowed.

Electricity sparked and tingled in the warm summer night air.

It was at precisely that moment that a flash of silver caught Henry's eye. Before the sight had even registered, his body had moved, slamming into the girl's frame and knocking her painfully to the ground with himself on top of her.

The bullet whizzed over their heads and imbedded itself in the trunk of the nearby tree.

* * *

**Et voila! What did you think? There's a little cliffie at the end and some of you may wonder as to the use of a gun by a Wizarding Hitman BUT rest assured, there is a reason, and I have not completely lost my mind. Yet.** ;)

**Translations;**

_**Mon amie**_**: My friend**

_**Lache moi!**_** : Let go of me!**

_**Fils d'une pute!**_** : Son of a bitch!**

_**Espece de sale egoiste!**_** : Selfish git/ bastard/ insert your own favourite insult ^^**

_**Me degoute, tu m'entend?**_** : Disgust me, do you hear?**

**_Parbleu!_ : An exclamation such as Lord, God, For Pete's sake…etc**

**_Ma mignon/ ma mie :_ Pet names that literally translate to my pretty (but not in a sleazy way, I must point out lol)**

**_Oui, toi! :_ Yes you!**

**Anyway, lots of questions to be asked and please feel free to ask them, I'll try to answer as soon as the holidays end. As always, I hope you liked and please please REVIEW!**

**Finally I will leave you with the Sneak Preview of Chapter 27, simply because I happen to have it on my USB stick. ^^ Enjoy!**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x x x x x x x**

* * *

"_Get away from me, you cowards!"_

_The raucous laughter echoed horribly down the corridor to his ears, cruel, vile and evil enough to make the blood boil in his veins. His vision was red, his feet already carrying him forwards. Gryffindor rage and Gryffindor recklessness driving him towards the Sixth years with his wand raised and ready to kill._

"_Feisty ain't she; for a discarded whore."_

_The girl wrenched her arm out of the biggest one's grasp, her other hand flashing out to slap the bastard across his leering face, uglier even than usual as he grinned down at her frightened form. The other louts grunted stupidly again, and their crude laughter seemed to spur the leader on. _

_His tongue slipped out to wet his thin lips, greasy blond hair clinging to the eager sheen on his brow as his eyes gleamed with gross anticipation. The girl cringed away as he ran his clammy hand down her cheek but with unexpected courage she snapped at his hand with pearly teeth causing him to remove it in a hurry._

"_Bitch!"_

_He was close enough to recognise them now; Yaxley's crawling, wet-mouthed smile, Bulstrode's' thick tree-trunk neck and finally Crabbe's gorilla reach. The Slytherin threesome had been making girls lives misery ever since their fourth year, but the Slytherin green and silver tie hanging loosely round the girl's neck didn't make sense. Disgusting though they were, the louts had always had enough of a perverted and twisted sense of loyalty to keep them from harassing members of their own house. Or more likely, the pureblood ladies were almost always betrothed from birth and therefore off-limits._

"_Can't think why he cast her off. But hey; I'm not complaining."_

_Yaxley leaned closer, his thick fingers clasping the girl's chin to prevent her from twisting and throwing back her head in disgust as he leaned in with a hateful smirk. Still as she turned desperately to the side, a shaft of moonlight lit up her features in the shadows._

_The loveliest face he'd ever seen was contorted into an expression of absolute, unbearable terror. _

_James' three stunners blasted the shitbags' unconscious bodies fifty feet, where they smashed into the ancient stones with a sickening crunch._

_As he moved to stand before her crumpled figure, her head lifted in the shadows so that the thick waves slid back from her face like silk over skin. Then, with a dignity that left him numb to the very core, she opened her purple bruised lids._

_Two pools of the deepest, most perfect blue stared proud and fierce despite their wet shine and seared straight through his soul._

James' sweaty torso convulsed as his eyes tore open, his mind wrenched away from sleep and he hurtled upright from his bed with a hoarse painful yell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey there people! =) Well this is the second « Chapter » I'm posting tonight lol and it's the third part of the MJ/Henry story. Things are finally starting to get interesting lol and I'd love to say more but it is now 2h3à in the morning and all I want to do is go to bed. And maybe wake up to a few lovely reviews hint hint ;) **

**You know the drill Read & Review! =)**

**Luv ya **

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x**

* * *

The owl let out an impatient screech and ruffled its feathers haughtily from it's golden perch, eying its master balefully. The man glanced up, his face smoothly composed and strikingly handsome, with one lock of hair falling from it's perfect order into his eyes. The eyes themselves held a gleam that could have been amusement, but the sleek head had bent once more over his desk before one could be sure. The owl plimmed itself up in indignation. It shot the occupant of the desk a malevolent glare and clicked its beak significantly but the man remained maddeningly oblivious, pausing to reread the letter he was composing, with a pensive abstraction that seemed too perfect to be anything but deliberate.

_"…The usage of a muggle weapon can surely only have been deliberate, but I must admit old friend, I am at a loss to decipher the reasoning behind it. The likelihood of such an injury being fatal is almost nonexistent, but if the shooting was only a threat, what then is it warning against? _

_It is so long since I last had the pleasure of your company, and letters can be compromising, but I imagine that the ever-growing strength of support for the Pure-blood cause is in no small way down to you and yours. It seems therefore not unreasonable to suppose that if anyone can assist me in uncovering the reason for this attack, you yourself can discover the rogue extremists responsible. _

_I turn to you once again it seems, in the hope that you may be able to shed some light on who desires Miss Moniqua Monroe silenced and how far they will go to assure it."_

The beautiful eagle-feather quill paused, nib touching the expensive sheet of parchment, in a moment of rare indecision. Finally however he continued, a look of disquiet still lingering in his disconcertingly acute eyes.

_"You know I would not compromise you for the world and it occurs to me that you may feel some not unreasonable confusion as to my particular interest in this matter. I cannot however truly explain, even to my own satisfaction. I can only say that attempted murder of an innocent is a step too far on the road towards extremism. _

_But I can not write more. For one thing my ink has run out, as is always the way when one finally has a missive to write of urgent importance, and for another, Moriarty is ready to take off empty-handed if I tarry a minute longer. As always, the mere mention of your name is enough to put him in a vile humour. _

_Don't take it personally; the one person whose company he deigns to enjoy is the single human being on this earth that I myself have a frequently recurring desire to murder. _

_Farewell and I await your answer, yes old friend, almost impatiently. Merlin help us._

_Signed_

_Henry Charlus Potter_

The self-proclaimed Henry Charlus Potter placed his quill on the desk and reread the missive, a frown barely creasing his smooth brow. Then a goaded hoot made his gaze flicker upwards to blandly survey the superb black eagle-owl who was now shuffling from left to right on his perch, almost beside himself in fury. Moriarty looked ripe for murder and with an amused gleam in his eye, Henry finally rolled up the parchment and swiftly tied it around the mutinous bird's leg.

Henry leaned back in his chair with the ghost of a smile on his lips, as Moriarty spread his enormous wings and flapped pointedly a few times to stretch the cramped muscles. Henry's expression was faintly apologetic, but the glint of humour lurking in those swirling pools of gold and brown and green, made the owl let out a deafening screech before launching itself into the air and out the window without so much as a glance back.

Henry shook his head slightly and sighed, feeling the familiar wave of turmoil rise inside him and push aside the lingering warmth of affection. How long had it been? Fourteen years? It didn't seem possible, it shouldn't be possible. The striking face closed up until it could have been carved in stone and the hand resting lightly on the desk curled with dangerous slowness into a fist.

A knock on the door brought Henry out of unpalatable memories and into the present with a shake of his head. There was no time to even open his mouth before Sylvester marched into the tiny space like a ginger whirlwind, tawny eyes flashing in ferocious purpose.

"Potter; Crouch's office now!" he barked and exited without another word.

Henry rose to his feet and followed his superior out the door in carefully concealed confusion, moving briskly to catch up with Prewett's long, lean stride. As he drew shoulder to shoulder with the man's powerful bulk, Henry settled back into his natural glide, eyeing the roughly-cut, lined and tanned face in faint curiosity. But Prewett ignored the young auror completely, powering across the Department Floor as though oblivious the stares from the numerous secretaries and lower members, who paused and gaped from their desks as the two men strode by.

Basilus Crouch's office was at the very end of the floor, slightly separated from the rest of the department as though to emphasise the fact that, in reality he had very little to do with the every-day running. A better Head of Department could have saved a lot of people a lot of extra work, but Basilius's position had more to do with the fact that his brother was the Minister's childhood friend and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement itself, and less to do with his actual capability as a leader. Greedy, lazy and notoriously lecherous, the man cut an unimpressive figure as the two men stepped unceremoniously into his office, never more so when compared with Sylvester's experience and power.

Crouch nodded distractedly to Sylvester but his shrewd grey eyes were fixed on Henry's face.

"Ah Potter, there you are. You will be pleased to know that we have come up with a plan of action in regards to the attack on Miss Moniqua Monroe last week, an attack I believe you foiled, am I right.»

Henry nodded, his fathomless gaze never leaving the other man features.

"Excellent! Jolly good job! Mister Nimbus was most satisfied with your prompt and impeachable conduct."

Jasper stepped out of the shadows from around the other side of the desk with an apologetic shrug, wincing at the other man's pompous heartiness. Crouch clapped his hands but the action resembled more the unconscious action of a greedy businessman rather than an expression of admiration. Henry fought the urge to roll his eyes, feeling Sylvester's unspoken warning without even touching his mind.

"Yes, yes! Excellent." he repeated, eyeing Jasper Nimbus with undisguised glee. Then he seemed to recollect himself, clearing his throat in a more professional manner.

"To the point, I myself and Mister Nimbus have come to an agreement about what is best to be done, which I am sure will meet with your approval. Mister Nimbus has most…respectfully requested for a permanent protection to be put in place to guard the…lovely…young…damsel in distress."

All three men's' faces darkened as an all-too-obvious look of appreciation came into Crouch's eye. His tongue darted out to lap at his pale lips and Henry repressed the overwhelming urge to curl his own lip in disgust. Crouch was plainly lost in some repulsive fantasy of his own making and judging by the dazed look on the lecher's face, it was one vile enough to turn Moniqua's stomach.

Not to mention his.

Henry let out a carefully controlled breath, observing with some satisfaction that he was at least not the only one. Sylvester, for all his warnings of restraint and self-control, looked ready to strangle the disgusting leech on the spot for thinking about his little girl that way. Jasper too had a grim look in his eye and his knuckles clenching over the edge of the desk were almost white. Crouch was oblivious, and awoke from his day-dream in his own good time, clearing his throat with a self-satisfied grin before turning back to his guests and continuing where he'd left off.

"The usual wards, alarm systems, etc have already been set in place but Mister Nimbus has requested on top of these usual measures the added security of a body-guard chosen from among our top aurors, to keep a permanent watch on Miss…Moniqua."

He lilted appreciatively over the exotic syllables and Henry was so busy grinding his teeth that he almost missed the direction which this was going in. When he did, his face hardened into harsh lines.

"I was under the impression that only visiting dignitaries, statesmen or prisoners are entitled to a permanent auror protection."

The words were soft and impassive; his face gave nothing away. Crouch seemed unsure whether to reprimand the youth for speaking out of turn without a superior's expressed permission but the look in Henry's eye made him think it best to let it slide. He shuffled from side to side and threw a rather sheepishly look towards Nimbus who was now, also looking decidedly uncomfortable. Henry's lips compressed.

"Yes, well," Crouch tried for a jovial tone, " In these special circumstances, and due to our deepest gratitude towards Mister Nimbus for his generosity in certain matters, I, that is the Ministry, has seen fit to grant this, I admit, unusual request until such time as the culprit for this attack is taken into custody."

Henry's features didn't soften. Rather the rings of gold around his pupils darkened to an uncompromising black.

"In that case sir, allow me to set to work immediately in tracking down whoever responsible, I am confident that in under two weeks I may have…"

But Crouch cut him off with wave and a now thoroughly put-out scowl.

"Nonsense," he replied testily, "You will do nothing except accomplish the mission assigned to you by your superiors."

Henry's entire body tensed, knowing what was coming and furious that he was powerless to stop it. Sure enough, Crouch's weak winy, petulant tones pronounced the words he'd been dreading.

"You will serve as body-guard to the civilian Moniqua Monroe until such time as it is judged that there is no longer need for concern for her safety and well-being."

Sylvester's face was a mask. Henry set his jaw and forced out

"Sir, I really do feel…"

Crouch exploded.

"You will obey orders Potter! You will not question your superior's decisions! You will hold your tongue and you will do as you are TOLD!"

The scrawny man was breathing heavily through his flared nostrils, his face tinged with spots of colour over his flabby cheeks. It took all of Henry's legendary self-control to swallow the blistering retort hovering on his lips, but Sylvester's tigerish gaze caught his and, imperceptively, the older man shook his grizzled head. With a final flash of those hazel eyes, Henry took a deep breath and forced chin to tilt in bitterly unwilling compliance.

"Yes,…sir." the words were almost ground out but Crouch, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. Instead he sniffed waspishly and waved his hand towards the door.

"Now, I have much to do. Prewett, I leave it with you to explain to Mister Potter what exactly his duties for this mission will be. Mister Nimbus, in case you have anything to add, I would advise you to attend this meeting. Potter, you will report to me before you leave. That is all."

It was an obvious snub. With a distinct sniff, he turned on his heel and flounced over to his desk, with now further thought for his guests. Crouch slumped into his chair, picked up a cigar and nodded once final time in the vague direction of the door.

"And send Michelle in on your way out."

Jasper looked as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Sylvester and Henry, long accustomed to their superior's complete lack of shame or morality of any kind, both simply bowed their heads one final time and strode out the door.

* * *

"Henry listen to me. Please!"

The tall rigid figure standing on the other side of Sylvester's desk made no movement, and Jasper wiped his brow wearily with his hand. He took a deep breath, trying to find the words to placate his young friend and business partner before this discordance caused permanent damage to their relationship.

"I need her protected, Henry. Financially Moniqua Monroe is worth millions to me and on a side-note, therefore to you too. But even if she wasn't…" he broke of with an exasperated sigh, and glanced for help towards Prewett. It did not gain him much. The Deputy Head of Department was sitting back in his chair, legs crossed, his amber gaze boring a hole in his own desk as he listened to the proceedings. Jasper glared at his childhood friend and spread his hands in appeal.

"I will admit to being biased in where MJ is concerned, as I would have thought, Sylvester would too." another icy look shot from under thin blond brows. "We are both fond of the girl and more importantly, we are both all too aware of her tendency towards…" he hesitated.

"Towards pig-headed, imprudent and irrational behaviour." Henry finished for him in a voice like steel. Jasper winced.

"Towards a certain level of…recklessness." he compromised helplessly. Henry rolled his eyes. Jasper pressed forward none the less.

"In any event, this assignment would not exceed two years. I trust that this will remain within these walls but, MJ has expressed a desire to leave the world of Quidditch," Jasper sounded almost in pain, "as soon as her own contract with the Montrose Magpies finishes."

Nimbus smiled widely towards the young auror, as though hoping that the mention of the Team that had been nicknamed "Monroe's Magpies" after his old schoolmate would somehow soften his resolve. He should have known better. Henry looked blankly unimpressed. Then his brows snapped together in a glare that could have rivalled Sylvester's in ferocity.

"Two years…?" he repeated in a voice deadly soft.

"Two years!" Jasper nodded enthusiastically, believing that his friend was finally coming round. "Until the end of the World cup, which Moniqua has expressed her willingness to play one final time her role as Captain of the French National Team…"

Henry was no longer listening. Instead he spun round to stare down at Sylvester's unresponsive form with a look as dark as night.

"Two years." he said once more, even softer and if possible, even more menacing. Jasper broke off, puzzled, looking from one to the other. Neither enlightened him, but eventually Henry finally asked with deceptive gentleness.

"Is Monroe a pureblood by any chance?"

Jasper's expression was now one of complete bewilderment. Sylvester on the other hand showed a tiny flicker of emotion on his gnarled features. His bushy brows descended into a faintly uncomfortable scowl, shutting his eyes briefly before suddenly fixing them on Henry's face with a stubbornly defiant glare.

"She is."

Henry's entire body became as still as stone. His face was so blank, so emotionless in sent the familiar chills down even Jasper's accustomed spine and his eyes when they finally opened, were deadly.

"You…bastard!"

The two words, lilted so softly, trembled with such icy contempt that Jasper flinched away and even Sylvester couldn't help but swallow. Nimbus opened his hands again, this time in confused, impatient appeal.

"What?" he demanded with a hint of his formidable temper, "For Merlin's sake would one of you please explain to me why Henry, you look ready to commit murder!"

Sylvester sighed wearily, but Henry was there before him, his words lashing like silk as he stared into nothing, his hands clenched into impressive fists.

"As Prewett has apparently neglected to inform you Jasper of the implications of this mission, it seems it falls to me. The only way for it to being publicly acceptable to be permanently seen in Monroe's presence without staining her reputation, is by informally announcing that we are courting."

"Is that such a problem?" Jasper frowned, still not comprehending. "You played the role of her date at the gala, with flawless results. I fail to see how…"

"What you are apparently unaware of, is the existence of an ancient, outdated wizarding law that states "If two purebloods of marriageable age have formally courted for a year and a day, they implicitly enter of their own free will into a formal contract of engagement that can only be broken by declaration of the groom that his bride to be is somehow unfit for matrimony.""

"That law is in the process of being revised and in all probability annulled." Sylvester interrupted quietly.

"But as yet it still stands!" Henry flashed back. Jasper looked simply stunned.

"Engaged?" he mumbled, flabbergasted. "But that's ridiculous." He looked round to Prewett, hoping for a denial, but to his shock the grizzled head merely nodded tiredly and Sylvester sat up straight.

"It was a law set in place to marry off Pureblood youngsters as fast and easily as possible. Arranged marriages have been traditional among our class for centuries. With our numbers so heavily falling, the Ministry felt itself obliged to step in and…facilitate the process."

Jasper rubbed the skin at his temples, as though trying to forcibly press the words into his stunned brain.

"But then surely all we have to do is go through with the plan and then you can break of the so-called engagement as soon as her contract finishes."

Henry let out a bitter half-laugh, never taking his eyes of Sylvester's rugged face.

"Once an official engagement is formed the only valid reason for it's being broken is the loss of honour of the bride. Meaning that to do so would mean my formally denouncing Monroe as a shameless, defiled whore, unfit for marriage to any self-respecting pureblood this side of the Channel. In other words, she would be ruined. Whatever else I may be, I am not such a cur."

Jasper was as pale as a sheet. He turned to Prewett with a look of horror, but the old warrior wouldn't meet his eye. The words sank numbly in, but Nimbus tried to pull himself together and asked rather weakly.

"And if we avoided them courting. What if we simply announced that Henry was serving as bodyguard to MJ? Not only would it be deemed normal for him to always be at her side but it would also serve as a deterrent to whichever group wishes her harm. They would have to murder one of the most prominent pureblood heirs to do so."

The idea seemed perfectly logical but both Henry and Sylvester were shaking their heads.

The Ministry can't be allowed to be seen using one of their best pureblood aurors simply to protect a civilian." Sylvester growled impatiently. "People would guess immediately that money was changing hands and, however true, the public would be up in arms at such blatant corruption in the government."

Jasper had the grace to look slightly sheepish.

"Ah…yes well, what to you propose we do then Sylvester?" impatient once more. "I would suggest the reassignment of the mission to a muggleborn auror instead, thereby negating the condition of this law, but MJ has sworn that if she has to have an auror tail her for two years…" he paused suddenly looking extremely embarrassed.

Henry waited, brows faintly narrowed in intense curiosity at what his business partner felt so uncomfortable declaring. Nimbus coughed and finally admitted with an embarrassed shrug

"She will have you and no one else."

Henry for once was completely and utterly stunned. His lips had parted to instinctively protest but no sound seemed to come. It was unthinkable, ridiculous that she could have made such a demand, but when he spun round towards Prewett, the expression on the man's rough features only confirmed the truth of the statement. Jasper took in the younger man's blank expression with a worried glance and hurriedly continued,

"I told me that she would do her level best to escape, lose or otherwise impede the chosen auror from dogging her every step and that you were the only person she has ever met that she could not triumph over in a duel."

Thick glowing brown locks fell forward over his brow and his shoulders as Henry nodded without even really being aware of it. There was some truth in that at least. Monroe had flattened every member of the Hogwarts Duelling association more times than he could count, winning the trophy all three years since her transfer. The entire school knew however, that had he bothered to compete, the silver shield would have been his with his wand arm tied behind his back. The one time he had, in an unprecedented fit of temper, accepted Monroe's challenge had been a defining moment of history. She had been disarmed in less than three minutes, but those three minutes were, according to Professor Dumbledore before his intervention, one of the greatest examples of wand-work he had ever seen.

There were a few members of the Department who were more than a match for even Monroe's skill, but an uncooperative mark was any aurors worst nightmare. The risks became doubled if the person one was trying to protect was putting all their energy into eluding their bodyguard. They took foolish risks, made selfish mistakes and almost always got hurt. It wasn't safe, nor was it fair. And of course it had to be said that if the girl had to be protected, there was a certain nagging part of him that defied anyone to do it better than himself.

But all this was irrelevant. However unexpected it was that Monroe had actually asked for him, it made no difference. She could have demanded someone else until she was blue in the face and it would have gotten her nowhere. Because at the end of the day, only the Ministry could decide which, if any, auror would be assigned as bodyguard to an intended mark. And the Ministry had no interest nor advantage to gain by assigning anyone but him.

He was beautifully and effectively trapped.

The realisation was almost accepted, however bitterly reluctant but an overwhelming, blazing anger still fumed beneath the surface, simmering quietly towards his Deputy Head of Department and by the look of Sylvester's face, he was well aware of the reason behind it. The black fire in the young auror's eye promised dire retribution but Prewett squared his massive shoulders and met him look for look.

"I had to inform Higher-Up, Potter. You knew that. Just like you knew they wouldn't let you go"

Jasper exhaled in frustration as, once more he had no clue what they were now talking about. He raised an eyebrow at the pair, waiting expectantly but Henry's jaw was locked so tight he couldn't speak.

"Let WHO go WHERE? For Merlin's sake!" Sylvester didn't even glance at him, his amber eyes scorching a hole in the youth's handsome face.

It was Sylvester who answered him, with obvious reluctance, grinding out each word as though it physically hurt him.

"In old Pureblood law, woman were never originally expected to actually hold a profession. They were thought to be physically weaker than the male, and it was therefore the duty of any husband to protect his wife. When our witches first began to work, dangerous jobs such as the Auror Department insisted on a clause that a woman could only join there ranks if her husband did as much, transferring any responsibility in case of her injury or death to him. It was done to protect the Ministry from being sued by bereaving husbands and satisfy the old traditions. Such laws are dying out, and rarely used but until they are fully removed from the constitution, they can still be enforced…when deemed necessary. ."

Henry unclenched his jaw to bite out softly

"She told you."

Sylvester nodded.

"MJ was the person you were waiting for to replace you. You would have walked out of the Ministry in less than two years, Potter. They can't let that happen. You're too exceptional. They need you too much to let you walk out that door."

Henry's voice was like ice.

"So they would entrap me into marriage with a woman sworn to join their ranks. How honourable."

Prewett closed his eyes and grit his teeth.

"Don't look at me like that, Potter. The Ministry has to work for the greater good."

Henry turned his blazing eyes towards the old tiger, two raging infernos set in a face smooth and expressionless as cream silk. Power seemed to radiate from him; frightening, abnormal waves of pure intensity rippling through the air around him until the very room seemed to shake. Jasper swallowed as a glass on the oak desk shattered into pieces.

Sylvester did not back down.

"I could quit today." Henry breathed, lingering over the syllables like a deadly caress, never breaking eye contact with his superior. Prewett nodded briskly.

"That you could. And the Ministry would refuse any protection to a mere…civilian, as you put it. Tyrannius don't do something for nothing, Potter. And what he wants right now…is you. Your power, skill not to mention galleons, tied to this government. So it's really your choice. You can walk away and let her die. Because if I know Malfoy, he'll find some way to let whoever's out there know that she's alone and unprotected. He doesn't like people saying no to him Potter. Even if it gains him nothing, you humiliate him, and he won't forget it."

Sylvester slumped back into the antique mahogany arm-chair, his expression suddenly terribly old and weary.

"I'm sorry for this Potter. You probably don't know how much. But arranged marriages are part of our society and always have been. And when so much money and power is at stake, you can't expect the Ministry to play fair. Trust me; I've been there."

An ancient sadness twisted the man's smile into a grimace, and something, perhaps the compassion and understanding in his eyes made the harsh expression on Henry's face soften ever so slightly. He forced his body to relax, allowing the tension to seep away, and finally swallowed.

"Does Monroe…has she any idea what you all have planned for her."

Another flash of pain contorted Sylvester features. He looked away. Henry's temper ignited once more.

"Do you truly believe she could ever be happy tied to a man she cares nothing for? A man she can barely stand the sight of?"

The words were cut with an odd sense of bitterness. Those beautifully shaped lips were curled into such a sneer of derision that Sylvester almost blinked. Their was an almost hurt edge to the youth's ice-cold anger, some flavour of resentment, maybe even…pain. But before it could register the strange flicker of emotion was gone. Henry's face was as blank and controlled as it had ever been, his voice empty as a grave.

"You would condemn her to a life of misery without even informing her? Or perhaps you feel it would be more romantic for me to perform the office myself?" he drawled with heavy irony.

Sylvester swallowed the snarled retort and fought to control his emotions. Did the kid think it was easy? Having been there himself, lived through the pain of having his life and his dreams sold off to better the family fortune? At least Potter and MJ actually knew the person they were promised to. At least they hadn't already given their heart to someone else.

Sylvester closed his eyes briefly at the familiar pang that still lay buried in the very depths of his heart. He loved Mary deeply, and after almost forty years he couldn't now imagine life without her. But sometimes, when he was least expecting it, the memory of Arabella's face, the dark blue depths of her eyes, the soft curve of her cheek, it would fill his chest like a barrel of water. He would, for a brief moment, choke on the past before locking up that precious recollection once more as though it had never surfaced. Mary, sweet, patient Mary had always known she was not his first choice, nor indeed his choice at all, but her loyalty and love had never faltered, and in time it had even warmed his frozen heart.

Henry's fathomless gaze on his face made the fifty-year put himself together. A suspicious glance at the lad's slightly softened expression had him swearing for the thousandth time that the kid could read minds. Stupid and undignified though it was, Sylvester found himself imagining in deliberately vivid detail exactly what methods of torture Potter would be subjected to if he ever discovered that he'd been digging round in his head.

Potter's lips may or may not have twitched. As it was, Sylvester shot him one last ferocious glare before coming back to their original topic with a suddenly despondent sigh.

"If you want me to tell her, I will." he growled under his breath, not with anger but rather with the pang of betrayal.

Henry considered him for a long moment before finally shaking his head. It was just the merest movement from side to side, but it made Sylvester's face warm slightly with a flicker of gratitude. Henry's own face was as always a mask, but the anger that had been sizzling off his skin seemed to have cooled somewhat, to both other men's intense relief.

"No. It is my choice and if anyone's, it is my fault. I should have known better."

Jasper frowned in obvious bewilderment.

"But my boy, this is foolish; how could you have known that this would happen?"

Henry threw his older friend a look of faint, rueful affection despite the urge to roll his eyes at Jasper's naivety. Instead he explained gently

"One does not miss what one has never had. If I had simply allowed myself to relax into the typical life of wealthy pureblood pleasure, they would have regretted the loss but they would have accepted it as inevitable. I did not. I stepped into the lion's jaws and showed them exactly what they stood to gain from me and more importantly, would they stood to lose at my departure. Now the Ministry would rather kill me than let me go. It was, to a certain extent, inevitable."

Jasper's blond head shook in a mixture of disbelief and confusion, his bony hands reaching up to rub his stressed temples.

"But then why...? Why do it in the first place? That is what I do not understand, my friend."

Nimbus' blue eyes were filled with genuine concern as he desperately tried to comprehend. Sylvester's tawny gaze had lifted from his grim observation of his desk to stare with a tiger's ferocity into the young auror's face. The seconds passed in silence as the two men simply watched and waited for the youth's answer but for once Henry Potter did not seem to have one ready. His features were settled into their typical mask of ice but in the depths of his hazel eyes, almost invisible save to those who knew him well, an emotion lurked and flickered. Unprecedented, inexplicable but nevertheless it was there, if only one could put a name to it...

Henry seemed to stir, his voice an empty murmur lingering on the air long after the words escaped.

" A whim, Jasper. The result of constant oppressive boredom." he finally said softly to the room. Then more loudly

"I will leave you immediately sir, to inform Monroe of our pending nuptials." he drawled, lips faintly curled, "May I offer her your congratulations and your best wishes for our happiness?."

Sylvester was not impressed.

"Out of my office Potter, or it's be your funeral you'll be bloody preparing for."

Henry merely blinked and wisely refrained from commenting on the rather microscopic chance of Sylvester finding anyone capable of sending him to hell. He made a bow, the gracious respect deliberately exaggerated to be almost insulting but before his superior could let out the scathing comment that was bursting on his lips, Henry turned on his heel and glided out the door.

Jasper looked at his disgruntled friend rather warily but Prewett was still glowering at the place the young man had stood.

"Whim…" he growled to no one in particular, "Now there's a name for it I hadn't heard before."

* * *

"MARRIAGE!"

The husky exclamation echoed round the luxurious hotel room, bouncing off the power-blue wall paper and the gilded mirror that hung above the ornamental fireplace. Henry didn't flinch, his gaze never waving from the empty space in front of him, his expression faintly bored as he stared into nothing. His nonchalance, his cold, indifferent way of announcing the news, it all only served to enrage her further.

Moniqua Monroe stamped her foot so vigorously that the glass ornaments on the mantelpiece tinkled in protest. When even this failed to provoked a reaction from him she swung on her heel in high dudgeon, whipped out her wand and blasted the entire set into smithereens.

Henry finally broke out his abstraction to roll his eyes derisively.

"You missed one." he drawled. Moniqua followed his cold gaze, her own positively spitting black sparks. Sure enough one remaining crystal fairy seemed to tremble in fear at the very end of the polished wood surface. It was the last straw.

"APUGNO!" the ebony wand slashed through the air as sharply as her thick black mane and the tiny ornament shot like a gleaming bullet towards the young man's face.

Henry Potter rolled his eyes once more before lifting his was with insulting nonchalance and, at the very last second before it made contact, lazily flicked it. The ornament curved past him and collided with the wall in an explosion of glittering crystal.

Moniqua glared at it ferociously before spinning round and resuming her hasty march back and forth across the room. The sight brought the tiniest flicker of amusement to the man's hazel eyes, softening the hard set of his lips and jaw. Inside a voice was telling him that he was acting childishly, deliberately provoking the rampaging Quidditch Star but when he caught his name muttered under her breath along with various interesting words in no less than three languages, the sight was so reminiscent of their Hogwarts days that he couldn't resist.

"There's a vase behind you, if you require more ammunition."

Sure enough she spun round like a roaring inferno, steam practically coming out her ears and her mouth open in speechless indignation. The corner of his lips twitched.

"You, you….ARGH! _Especes de petits cons_… _sale batard_…CABRON!" she stormed, resuming her furious pacing once more, throwing him the odd vicious glower from time to time. Finally she whirled round again, hands wide and outstretched, foot stamping in outrage.

"How could you agree? To z'is…z'is _folie_!"

The hint of amusement disappeared completely. Henry's face closed up until it could have been set in stone.

"I was given little choice." he said coldly. Moniqua stamped her foot again, throwing up her hands in disbelief.

"You are Henry Potter, _merde_! What power can z'ey hold over you?" she demanded. Henry's jaw clenched but he said nothing and she stepped closer, confusion overpowering the anger for the moment.

"Well? They cannot bribe you! They cannot blackmail you! What then can they do? Why are you just…accepting this?"

The smooth cream of his throat flexed as he swallowed down the biting retort as he fought to keep calm. For a few moments he simply breathed, refusing to lower his gaze to hers, staring instead over the top of her head into the flashing eyes of his own reflexion. Only when the blackness there had finally cooled, only then did he look away from the gilded mirror and met her look for look.

"If I refuse they will…allow someone to die…someone that I would not see dead." he finally said, so softly that she almost didn't hear. Moniqua's eyes widened in shock before narrowing into a fierce frown.

"They would not dare!" she hissed, black eyes snapping in anger but not, this time directed at him. Henry stared into nothing once more.

"I can assure you they would." he murmured, with just the faintest hint of bitterness.

A thought suddenly crossed Moniqua's mind. He felt her body tense despite her head still being lowered and Henry looked down with a faint frown, curious as to what had provoked her sudden reaction. Without looking up she said quietly

"This person…you must care about them much."

It was a statement rather than a question and for once Henry had no idea how to respond. His lips moved of their own accord, repeated his words from earlier whilst his brain accustomed to the novel feeling of being momentarily blank.

"I would not see her dead." he said expressionlessly.

Moniqua kept her eyes firmly on the floor but again he felt her tense, and in the sunlight steaming in through the open window he could see her fingers quiver ever so slightly, as though she was forcibly stopping them from clenching.

"You would marry someone you despise and tie yourself to a cause you do not believe in…all to keep t'is person safe. It seems to me obvious that you care for her very much."

Suddenly she lifted her head and the white flash of her smile momentarily blinded him.

"_Parbleu Henri_, you are in love!"

She laughed, a rich husky trill that may or may not have stuck half-way, Henry didn't notice. Instead he was standing as one stunned, eyes wide and jaw hanging open till suddenly sanity returned and he cut back instantly

"Don't be a fool!"

_"Je pourrais dire pareille."_ I could say the same.

His eyes narrowed, his deep voice becoming harsher.

"Believe me, I am _not_ in love with her."

Her eyes gleamed, bright with mockery or pain. He could feel his temper rising, crawling up his throat in a way only she could provoke in him so that he had to fight to keep his voice level.

"I am a pureblood Monroe, the sole heir to the Greatest Wizarding Family and Fortune in the land. From birth I have known that my marriage would be nothing but a business arrangement that would somehow benefit both my own situation and my spouses. Not once in my entire life have I ever indulged in the foolish notion of joining myself in matrimony to someone for love and have no intention of starting now."

The harsh monologue paused briefly and became a little more cold, more empty of whatever little emotions there had previously been.

"As my wife you will have anything you have ever dreamed of possessing. You will be free to live your own life however you desire and with whomever you see fit as long as you are discreet. Anything you want you will have, every door will be open to you. You shall have every freedom to go your own way as I shall go mine. You need see as little of me as you choose. The only thing I require in return is the eventual conception of an heir but neither of us need be concerned about that yet."

Moniqua felt as though he had punched her in the stomach. The cold, indifferent description of their life together made her almost want to vomit. Tears stung her eyes, imagining the years ahead, of loving her husband whilst knowing that he did not love her back. Knowing that he loved another. Living with him, touching him, making….

"And when the time comes….when we do need to be concerned about it…?" her voice echoed hollowly in her own ears but he seemed not to notice how they stuck in her throat.

"When the time comes there are spells and potions that can guarantee pregnancy thereby rendering only one attempt necessary. After the child is born you are then welcome to demand a divorce and I will bestow upon you whatever settlement you choose; the child will remain a Potter but you will have the right to see them as often as you wish."

The nausea reared again stronger than before as his words struck her cold. Her hands shook so she clasped tightly together hoping he would not see. The silence seemed to throb in the air like a bloody pulse until she finally sucked a deep breath and shattered it with a simple

"No."

She felt him tense and then force his body to relax.

"No?" he inquired, still carefully polite.

"No."

She lifted her head, black eyes blazing with determination and fire, fingers balling into fists as the irritated expression on his face only served to anger her further.

"I won't entrap you into marriage. T'ey can't make me! I won't let you do t'is!"

Henry's face could have been carved in marble.

"There is no question of entrapment. My marriage was always going to be a mercenary arrangement. One might say I am lucky to at least be acquainted with my proposed partner. Many purebloods are not so fortunate. As for you, I regret forcing you into an arrangement that you have not been brought up to consider inevitable. I would however point out that the advantages to becoming my wife are numerable and that I shall only inflict my presence upon you with your expressed permission. You are free to seek amusement or satisfaction with whomever you choose as long as you use precautions and remain, as I mentioned, discreet.…»

Moniqua cut him off with a bitter half-laugh.

"In other words I may fuck whom I want as long I don't get knocked up or flaunt it."

The cruel, mocking edge to her tone made his chiselled jaw set hard but he remained silent, merely bowing his head. She rather wished he'd used his acid tongue and cut her to pieces. Instead he stayed cold and callous and utterly impenetrable behind his mask of ice. Moniqua swallowed in pure frustration and swept away to the other side of the room to pause beside the brightly lit window.

"Does she really mean to you so much?" she bit out finally,

Henry did not answer straight away, and after the pause had stretched to long she turned her head to stare at him in a mixture of bitterness and hurt.

"What if I refuse?" she said finally.

"You won't." He turned his handsome head and looked her straight in the eye. "You would never let an innocent die if you had the means to prevent it."

Moniqua stared back at him, hating him for being right and yet…oddly pleased that he knew her so well. That he understood her so completely. The silence held for a long long moment but finally her lips parted

"I will do everything I possibly can to escape t'is coil…"

"Monroe…"

"BUT until then," she cut him off with a wave of her hand, "until then we will follow t'is plan and keep your…friend…alive."

Henry let out a silent sigh almost of regret but then, reluctantly he nodded, a single, sharp movement before stepping gracefully across the room until he was at her side, face to face, the pair of them like two shadows framed by the sunlit window. She straightened as he came near, her chin lifting in defiant pride, her eyes sparkling militantly despite her capitulation. He stared down at her for a moment before holding out one graceful hand.

"Then, Miss Moniqua Jasmina Monroe, will you do me the honour of becoming my…future wife."

Her lips lifted into the smirk he remembered so well, arrogant and mocking and completely irresistible.

"Why, Henry Charlus Potter, I believe I will."

She lifted her brown hand and slipped into his so that the morning sunshine seemed to turn them red like hot metal and weld them together. Moniqua Monroe looked him straight in the eye and the smile faded just a little.

"For now."

* * *

**Translations;**

**_Especes de petits cons_… _sale batard_…CABRON :your basic swearwords lol, bastard, git, shitbag, take your pick ;)**

_**Parbleu: **_**an exclamation, either Jesus, Holy crow, you get the idea ;)**

**So? Tell me what you think! Chapter 26 of AOA is up if you don't already know! Must sleep lol**

**Luv y'all **

**Lili**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi there people! I'm posting this mainly so that you all know why I haven't updated with All Over Again in so long, basically I've been off on my revision time for the first term finals that are starting on Monday lol. I'm sorry for taking forever; you've all been so patient with me! =) All I can promise is that, as soon as these pesky exams are over, and (hopefully) passed, I can get back to finishing Chapter 26. **

**This chapter of First Steps is part 4 in Moniqua and Henry's story and was basically written, give and take a little tidying up. It's not my favourite, partly because the first 3000 words or so is mainly information. A little about Henry but more into Moniqua's background and her life during the past two years they've been separated. They'll be more to come about her childhood, and her parents' story is one that I like to think of as quite romantic, Cicero especially is quite the character and I'm looking forward to Henry meeting him ;) We find out just how far back MJ and Florean Fortesque go, why Moniqua can dance etc… So as I said mainly information. The REAL story picks up just after this first half and I like a little better ;) **

**The couple have been "working up " to courting for a little over two months as we'll see. The rumours have been going haywire and tonight well, they're going to put petrol on the fire ^^ Which is always good fun. **

**Read, hopefully enjoy and please review =)**

**Luv y'all**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x x**

* * *

First Steps Chapter 8

There were very few Wizarding Apartment Blocks in the centre of London, but those there were made up for their small number in the very highest, most luxurious quality. Merlin's Obelisk was one such building. Invisible to the muggle eyes the skyscraper stood at a massive three-hundred meters tall, it was one of the most advanced examples of architecture of its time and at the very top, a stunning three-bedroom penthouse with its outer walls built completely from unbreakable glass shone like beacon above the capital.

It was from one of these floor length windows that a gentleman stood, silent as a shadow, looking out over the lights of London. Night had fallen a little more than an hour ago and the sky was carpet of faint twinkling stars. The man debated stepping out onto the vast terrace to enjoy the view more fully before finally coming to the conclusion that the temptation would be too much. Time was short and if he gave in to his longing for a midnight flight now, not even duty could coax him back before dawn.

He was dressed unusually, for him at least. The muggle tuxedo fit his broad frame like a glove, an odd sensation to one accustomed to the loose ease of dress robes. The black bow tie around his neck was equally strange, but he'd acknowledged, to the speaking mirror's delight, that the effect was not un-pleasing. The white shirt stood out crisp and stark against the simple black and even one with as little time for vanity such as himself, would have had difficulty suppressing the faint feeling of approval as he glanced briefly at his own reflection in the glass.

The muggle attire was the theme for tonight's Ball, organised by none other than his date for the evening. The date who had still to emerge from the bathroom they reluctantly shared and had done for the past month. The gentleman glanced briefly to his watch before retuning his gaze to the magnificent view once more without any change in his expression.

A sudden movement caught his eye and the man turned slightly to observe the owl that had just lifted its head and blinked from its perch that stood on the terrace, just the other side of the vitrine. A huge black eagle-owl, it waited patiently as the man opened the glass door and stepped back so that the bird could soar in and perch on his outstretched arm.

A faint smile of affection glowed in the man's striking hazel eyes, the rare flicker of emotion lighting up the swirls of gold and green. The owl clicked his beak once in satisfaction before looking around the luxuriously furnished room as though searching for something or someone. The gleam of amusement abruptly disappeared.

Moriaty clicked his beak again, this time in distinct impatience as he looked up at his master expectantly. Henry Potter rolled his eyes.

"She is in the bathroom and I doubt would welcome your presence. "

With a low, disgruntled hoot the owl suddenly dug his claws into the man's arm and took off once more, soaring once around the room and out the open doorway. A moment later he was nothing but a rapidly diminishing black speck in the sky and Henry rolled his eyes with a tiniest snort of irritation.

Exactly why Moriaty had abandoned his steadfast hatred of mankind for this one particular female, Henry could not for the life of him understand. The eagle-owl had displayed nothing but contempt for anyone save his master, to whom he was completely devoted for reasons best left forgotten. But the antisocial bird had broken his own rule in becoming inexplicably attached to the one person whom Henry would have undoubtedly preferred him to loath.

The owl had made his new "bosom-buddy " in their sixth year, unbeknownst to him. It was nonsensical. Ridiculous. Henry had tried to point out as much to his oldest friend more times than he could count. For some reason it had irritated him that even Moriaty, HIS Moriaty had joined the ranks of all the other pathetic fools who had fallen under the doubtful charms of the girl. But all he had ever received for his efforts was a contemptuous look and a click that said quite plainly that Moriarty was torn between amusement and exasperation.

Three years later and nothing had changed.

Henry Potter rolled his eyes as he'd done so many times before and returned to waiting expressionlessly for his assignment and his date to declare herself ready to leave, hopefully sometime before the night was over.

* * *

Contrary to her bodyguard's belief however, Moniqua Monroe was no longer in the bathroom, having completed both her hair and make-up and progressed finally to the stage of deciding what to wear. She was in fact standing in front of the mahogany armoire with a decidedly infuriated expression on her face but oddly enough this was not aimed at the three ball gowns spread out over the floor poster bed.

No, fashion and fortune were the last things on the Quidditch Star's mind tonight. Looking amazing was both necessary and expected and she had no intention of leaving the flat looking anything less than perfect, but other darker things were occupying her thoughts right then. Half-truths and downright lies flushed her cheeks briefly and although no-one was there to see, Moniqua couldn't help but turn away uncomfortably.

She dropped the towel to the floor and pushed black the embarrassment determinedly. There was no other option, she reminded herself severely; however much she'd protested and argued, Henry Potter was as pure-blooded as one could get. He could not yet be trusted. With her life it seemed, but not with her secrets.

The dresses were stunning, unique pieces of flawless design and matchless quality, all gifts from couturiers praying for her to advertise their skills. At first glance it seemed impossible to choose between them; each was as breathtaking as the next. What she did not wear tonight, she would undoubtedly wear tomorrow so in some ways it seemed pointless to fuss. But on the other hand tonight was special. Tonight all the eager gossips and desperate reporters would finally get what they'd been after for the past two months.

A kiss.

Moniqua couldn't quite repress the cringe. She breathed in deeply and tried to suppress the flush that crept treacherously into her cheeks. It was nothing, she repeated to herself for the thousandth time. Just a measly little kiss. Not a snog nor a make-out; barely even a brief brush of the lips. Chaste. As he'd called it.

Irritation gritted her teeth along with the embarrassment. HE of course had barely blinked as he'd made the suggestion that tonight would be the perfect night to admit via actions rather that words, that the rumours that had been going haywire were indeed true. The budding relationship between the billionaire Henry Charlus Potter and the world famous Moniqua Jasmina Monroe had finally progressed from the declared "friendship ", to something no longer platonic. Moniqua shuddered.

The media would go crazy.

For two months, ever since the unexpected reunion and those two innocent dances, the couple had become the next biggest scoop. The entire Wizarding world watched in eager disbelief the pair's every move. Every word they spoke to the other was quoted, every look, every smile was splashed across the front pages of every newspaper from the Daily Prophet to Witch Weekly. It was all necessary, Moniqua sighed impatiently. The relationship, the courtship, the marriage; it all had to look real. If the public guessed that their favourite love-story of the year was nothing more than a business assignment to enrich a corrupt and greedy government….there would be outright anarchy.

It had to look real. Real enough to explain the sudden and impulsive decision to court officially despite the pair having not seen each other for almost two years.

Moniqua picked up the first dress and held it against her body, tilting her head to the side appraisingly as she examined the effect of the black crepe against her skin.

The fact that they had known each other at Hogwarts made the story at least slightly more believable. The romantic English public had adored the idea of the Head Girl and Boy finally falling in love after a long painful separation, during with both of them, heartbroken and lost as they were, had refused to date anyone else. Moniqua rolled her eyes without thinking before remembering that she had sworn to stop that irritating habit she'd caught from him. Three months ago, anyone who knew Henry even faintly would have told you that the day he fell in love would be the day Wizards came out to the muggle world as existing.

Henry Potter was the most eligible bachelor on the Marriage Mart but a bachelor, society had decided, he would remain for the next twenty years until he felt obliged to marry for the sake of an heir. Who would have guessed that one night and two dances could have turned him into a devoted and desperate romantic. The dark-haired girl snorted and threw the dress back onto the bed-spread with a huff. Black was too sombre, too dark and reminded her too much of the enormous effort she'd had to make simply to make them look even remotely interested in each other. The so-called genius Henry Potter was as useless as a damned flobberworm.

Pique swelled Moniqua's breast like a sponge and for the thousandth time she pushed away the indignation firmly. Anyone else her inner conscious pointed out irritated, would have been overjoyed, ecstatic even to have to play the part of her lover and soon to be fiancé. She had men queuing up for her attentions, marriage offers left, right and centre from almost every pureblood family there was. Once it had been established that Cicero Sonatra Monroe was indeed the last surviving heir to the legendary Ronaldo line, even the Black family could no longer turn their pointy noses up.

Moniqua sighed. Since the moment she'd sighed on to the French Team almost eight years ago now, she had kept her family and it's secrets out of the limelight, mainly due to her father's relentless and extremely violent disapproval of her choice of career. The old wound twinged and Moniqua pushed the thought away. No use it digging up old skeletons.

Suffice it to say that Moniqua Monroe could have had her pick out of any of the most eligible bachelors of the day. Charm, exceptional manners and a lively sense of the ridiculous made it irrelevant that she had not sewn or painted in watercolours since the age of twelve. She was a beautiful woman with a very reasonable fortune in her own right, leaving out what she would inherit at her father's death. And of course as her father's daughter, music was as much in her blood as the skills she displayed on the pitch.

When Moniqua Jasmina Monroe danced people said it was though the Black Maria herself had taken to the floor. And Moniqua would smile sweetly at their praise, thinking of her mother's identical curve of the lips. The smile they had never seen beneath the midnight veil as she twirled and spun to the greatest music on earth.

But that was family history and the Black Maria had danced her last dance a little over ten years ago. Now Marie Aria Monroe née De La Vega hummed and smiled secretly to almost forgotten melodies, her hands floating over flowers and embroidery, her thoughts of her beloved husband and the six children she adored.

Moniqua closed her eyes briefly in gentle reminiscence, allowing the thoughts of her home, her family, her brothers to fill her mind like sunshine. It had been too long since she had seen them, too long since they'd laughed and sung and danced together to Papa's guitar, too long since Maman had seen through all her barriers with those black knowing eyes she had inherited. Too long since the Monroe children had slipped out the back door to the Evergreen Clearing and played their favourite sport for hours on end.

The smile came followed by a small half-laugh. Of course they were no longer children now.

Claude, the eldest and most dependable of the lot was now entering his thirty-third year. He had children instead, two boys of seven and four. Adorable angels until the minute their doting father's back was turned.

Michael was next at thirty, as adventurous as his brother was staid, a hardened bachelor and a renowned model for Gladrags.

Clovis had been born two years later; he was recently married and after following the family profession of music, was their fathers pride and joy. Artistic and self-sufficient, Clovis was the brother Moniqua understood the least; though neither resented the other they were simply too different to be close.

Morgan was one she really couldn't stand. At twenty-eight, her fifth brother was as malicious and selfish as he had been at ten. Having tried and failed to make it as a Quidditch Star, he had never forgiven his youngest sister for having succeeded where he had failed. At every opportunity he set Moniqua and their father at odds, rubbing in their disagreements simply for his own amusement. His final crime was treating everyone beneath him, muggles, muggleborns and especially women. He had sired three children already, all by different mothers and although he paid them all a handsome allowance, not once had he made any attempt to take real charge of his offspring. He was according to his sister, an egotistical, chauvinistic, prejudiced womaniser. And that was putting it lightly.

Moniqua scowled and grabbed the second dress, swearing briefly as she accidentally crumbled the white gossamer in her haste. She pouted at her reflection in the mirror, huffing as the Grecian-style dress although lovely, made her look shapeless and big-shouldered. It swiftly went the same way as the third, back onto the velvet bed-spread with a stamp of impatience.

The last dress was scarlet and just looking at it, Moniqua felt her entire body relax. It was Christophe's favourite colour and the thought of her youngest and favourite brother brought the mischievous smile back into her eyes with a vengeance. Growing up the pair had been partners in crime since the moment they could walk. A single year separated them; Christophe had just turned twenty-one and the rather large gap between their elder siblings and themselves had bonded them more closely than any of the others. Along with Florean, their oldest friend, the threesome had terrorised the neighbourhood, challenging the local bullies to Quidditch Games and laughing as they thrashed them.

The Monroe's were still a legend throughout the South of France, although they hadn't played as a team in years. As children they had had a fierce loyalty to each other, and even Morgan had broken five bullies' noses in her defence during their early years. That was before his application to play for France had been denied and hers accepted. It seemed so long along now.

Christophe had married only a year ago and his wife Dorine had just announced that she was pregnant wit their first child. The familiar glow of happiness for the couple resurfaced, causing her face to light up like a sunrise. Christophe had already whispered to her that she could expect a formal invitation to being the child's Godmother just as soon as the little one was born. She had been so moved, so happy for her loved one that for once the famous Moniqua Monroe was speechless with emotion. But as she nearly strangled him in her embrace, they'd both understood just as they always had.

Christophe and Florean new her better than she did herself and leaving them to attend Hogwarts in her fifth year had been one of the hardest choices she'd ever had to make. Seeing Florean walk through the door uninvited at the After Party of the last world cup had been…indescribable. Just seeing him had filled the tiny hole in her heart but it had also made her realise rather brutally just how small that hole had become.

Moniqua paused, brown fingers still holding up the scarlet material and her face unusually sober beneath the make-up. Seeing her childhood friend after almost three years…it had brought home to her suddenly….just how much she no longer ached for her old life. She missed her friend dearly of course, just as she missed her family…but in those seconds as he swung her gleefully above his head, all she had been able to think of was the fact that…something had changed. She had changed. He'd put her down with that infectious grin she remembered so well and she had felt light and happy but…not…complete, as she'd always imagined she would when seeing him again.

The threesome, their closeness, it had been such a huge part of her life in France, that during those first few months, the separation had stung like poison creeping inescapably through her veins. They weren't meant to be apart, they had sworn to always be there, always together, inseparable. So when she'd looked into Florin's eyes that day and realised that they weren't…it had numbed her.

Instead another face had swam before her mind's eye, strikingly chiselled, openly disdainful and so…needed, her fingers had lifted of their own accord as if to clutch at the illusion. She'd known that night. Known that nothing would never be the same, could never go back to the simple easiness of childhood. And when she'd later seen Christophe, barely a month later and he'd introduced the love of his life to her, she hadn't even felt the surge of jealousy she'd always expected. Sadness perhaps, and a little wistfulness at yet another proof that they were all growing up, but not the sharp, tearing pain of having her other half taken away. Instead she'd smiled with every ounce of charm she possessed, grinning at her loved one with all the joy that glowed from his handsome face.

Florean had been her date for the wedding and for the brief hours before the ceremony the threesome had simply relaxed and laughed over all the old stories, the memories good and bad, in a final unspoken farewell to those days and those bonds that, although would never be broken, would never quite be the same.

Perhaps it was strange that, during the loss of one bond, she would come to recognise the intensity of another. If she hadn't known before hand, she could no longer pretend when the bouquet fell into her distracted hands, and that face once more filled her entire mind. The surge of longing had struck her like a physical blow, bringing her to the point of nausea, making her grasp at her chest in pain as the tears had threatened to come and she'd excused herself quickly with a headache. And when she'd sat, arms wrapped tightly around her midnight blue bridesmaid dress, the laughter and the truth had slipped almost hysterically from her lips as she rocked back and forth.

"I love him. I really love him. "

The tears had run around her mangled smile, falling into her lap and staining there. A day later she had gone to Dumbledore, asking if he'd had news of him. Her old headmaster had shook his head apologetically but had pointed out that if he was indeed in Auror training as she hoped, no word would be had for another three years. He had asked for her help that day. Later she would wonder if he'd taken advantage of her hurt to manipulate her into accepting the request, but in fairness she had leapt upon the opportunity to be useful with fanatical gusto. It had given her purpose, a reason to live and to force herself to ignore the dull ache in her heart that had never seemed to go away.

It had worked, to a certain extent. By day Moniqua Monroe had continued to play some of the best Quidditch seen in that century and by night she danced and twirled as society's darling. Woman reluctantly smiled and nodded their heads, whilst the men ogled shamelessly in dumb admiration. She had the entrée every where and fulfilled her assignment flawlessly, making use of every charm she possessed. And after a while, she had grown to like it. To take comfort in the knowledge that even as a spoilt society miss, she was achieving something for her cause. The days slipped away faster and faster, drawing her closer to her goal like an inescapable tug of war. Although the pain never faded, she could lock it away, far from prying eyes, only to resurface in the silence of her apartment when the long hours of partying were over and dawn tricked through her curtains.

And then he'd come back. Two months ago, out of the blue he'd stepped back into her life without a blink and now…she had to shake her head. Now he was set to be there for the rest of her days. Not that she would just let that happen. With a decisive nod of her head towards her reflection she quickly unzipped the back of the dress and stepped into it, taking care not to put her foot through the stiff fabric.

The rigid bodice of the dress was heaved up to sit smoothly under her arms and across her impressive bust. A thousand tiny crystals sparkled like fire at it's edge, some of them trickling down towards her hips like molten rubies. The skirt was full and heavy, kept aloof by magic and innumerable petticoats and it fell in folds over itself, creating a loose waterfall effect like ripples on water, or maybe wine. The back was the difficulty, open in a v-shape down almost to the curve of her waist, it was tied like a corset with red ribbon across her brown back. Around her hips the bodice stopped over the beginnings of the skirt and again the edges glittered with tiny gems.

It was stunning, and as Moniqua tilted her wand over her shoulder to carefully fasten the ties, she couldn't help but smile in supreme satisfaction. Maybe…who knows, maybe she wouldn't be the only one.

Moniqua pushed the thought away with a snap. She was not going down there. Nothing would be gained by venturing down that road; he had difficulty even giving the impression that he tolerated her. Daydreaming hopefully that another tight-fitting dress might suddenly awaken a surge of attraction towards her, it was a sure way of getting hurt.

Moniqua marched over to the dressing table and opened one of the many boxes sitting there, her face a dissatisfied frown as she searched in her mind through the jewels she possessed. A ruby pendent was tried and immediately discarded. It was too long, ruining the smooth cut of the bodice against her brown shoulders. A black ribbon, round the neck? Simple and not displeasing…she hesitated, head tilted at once side and her lips turned downwards in a pout.

Almost… The idea of the choker was right, but the black was stark, and stood alone. Her gloves were the same scarlet satin as the dress, caressing her arms all the way up to the elbows. Even the delicate crown that nestled in her elaborate coiffure was studded with glowing rubies. No the black wasn't right either… But she was running out of time. Perfectionist to the last, Moniqua would rather go without than spoil the effect with the wrong accessory.

With one last sigh, she picked up the gloved that lay upon the dresser and pulled them on before fixing them in place with a flick of her wand. Nothing was more irritating than gloves slipping down every five minutes. Her shoes were by the door and she slipped her feet into them rather distractedly, struggling with the tiny gold buckles before eventually losing patience and fastening them too with magic.

She was ready. Moniqua took one last critical look in the floor length mirror, analysing every little inch. Her hand crept up to the smooth gold lines of her collar-bone and stroked it ruefully but other than that…she was a vision to please the most exacting of critics. A quick glance to the closed door.

Well, at least so she hoped.

* * *

The bracelet gleamed like threads of moonlight entwined around the pale wrist he held up to the window. The Celtic design was simple and all the more beautiful for it, with only the clasp, in the form of two lions nose to nose, interrupting the twisting vine. Henry stared at it expressionlessly, for so long one wondered if he still saw it or whether his gaze had simply blurred into abstraction. Such a small thing, to mean so much. So innocent it was always overlooked, so strong… In six years it had never yielded, never swayed from it's purpose. A gift beyond measure…as proof of a bond beyond words.

"Where are you now my friend? "

The metal had no answer, glinting sadly in the starlight as he lowered his arm once more to hang not quite at ease by his side.

It was his only ornament, save the Potter signet ring that sat on the opposing hand, a heavy lump of white gold stamped with the family crest and the famed red diamond embedded in the very centre of the letter P. One of the Potter line's most priceless heirlooms and the mark of one the very oldest Pureblood families.

Monroe would be so thrilled.

The barest hint of satisfaction lifted the very corner of Henry's fine lips. Childish perhaps but baiting his old classmate had somehow never lost it's appeal. There was still something wickedly amusing in watching those bistre eyes flash like polished jet, her gold cheeks flushing to the bronze pink of the morning sunrise as his smallest action sparked her ferocious temper to a towering blaze. She would gasp in pure indignation, her fists would clench, her tirade would rage and finally, when his bland expression would become to much, her foot would stamp in that movement he would associate with her and her alone till his dying day. She would storm from the room in high dudgeon and the, unbeknownst to her, in the silence that followed, his lips would turn upwards like they were doing now and Henry Potter would allow himself a small, hard-earned chuckle.

It was something that no one else could do, he found himself thinking vaguely, most of his attention still staring out into the twilight sky. Part of him wondered why, what powers Monroe possessed to be able to spark such relatively strong emotions within him. Since his earliest memories boredom had accompanied his every waking moment. When nothing in life poses a challenge, when nothing is impossible nor unobtainable…what is there really to live for?

Affection glowed briefly in Henry's hazel eyes. That was one thing they'd always disagreed upon, but the hours they'd spent debating it had been both ferocious and one of the few pleasures in his cold childhood. No Monroe was not the only one to make him laugh, it was only the time that he'd been away that made it seem so. Monroe was not unpleasant company when pressed but she could never understand him so completely, so effortlessly as…

"Potter! "

Henry turned instantly, the wand already in his hand despite the lack of alarm in his mark's voice. Impatience yes, but when was there not. Henry was surprised to find himself repress a rueful sigh as he moved swiftly towards the door from whence the voice had come. He knocked once but to his slight irritation it neither opened nor did Monroe invite him to enter. Instead her voice called out again, husky and distracted but with an unmistakable tone of command that his nostrils pinched and his jaw clenched despite all his self-control.

"I need my cloak! It should be by the door and hurry! We're running late al…OW! "

The shout of pain was followed immediately by a string of curse words in various languages. Henry was already forcing open the door but to his surprise the girl on the other side shoved it back against him.

"I'm fine, _c'est bon_! My cloak! "

Henry exhaled in frustration.

"Monroe, let me in. "

"_NON! Je ve mon manteau de soirée_!" she insisted, so petulantly he could almost see her pouting. She _wanted_ her cloak, of course she did.

Henry gritted his teeth and for the briefest moment, fought to control his emotions as he ground out icily "Accio cloak " and the vestment in question soared into his outstretched hand, crumpled as the fist clenched. What had he been saying earlier; only SHE could push him to the very limits of his self-restraint so effortlessly. His lips thinned as he carefully replaced his typical mask of indifference, and when he spoke back through the door, his tone was politeness itself.

"Your cloak, Monroe. "

Before he had time to blink the door was opened a crack and a scarlet glove whipped out, grabbed the velvet folds and was gone in a flash. Henry bit his tongue and strode towards the kitchen table where his gentleman's greatcoat was thrown haphazardly over one of the tall-backed chairs. His eyes were still dark with the flickering of aggravation and as he pushed first one arm then the other through the sleeves, he did so with unnecessary force.

Behind him he heard the door to his flat-mates room open and then close. Without turning round he dragged a pair of slightly worn leather gloves from the deep pockets and pulled them on with deliberate concentration. Henry heard her huff in frustration, and in a spark of wickedness strode smoothly to the nearby mirror and examined his appearance, his smile as bland as an infants as he took his time over the positioning of the strange "bow-tie " that had replaced his cravat.

Out of sight, a foot tapped, irritatedly against the wooden floor. Henry listened as her breathing hitched, sharply draw back through tightly gritted teeth. His extra hearing picked up on the straining of the dress's bodice as her chest heaved in silent wrath and indignation, hidden beneath the folds of that damned cloak. He debated waiting for her to explode, the corners of his lips twitching as her mouth opened and then closed stubbornly once more, fighting back the urge to give in to her temper and let him win. A few more seconds, and Henry shook his head mentally. Monroe was stubborn enough to make them both late by refusing to demand that he finish this game and hurry. And tonight would be challenge enough without the added pressure of barely restrained hostility between the two of them.

He was after all supposed to be desperately in love with her.

Giving the collar of his shirt a final twitch Henry turned smoothly on his heel and met his date's seething gaze with something almost akin to an apology. Moniqua glowered fiercely at him for a moment before as suddenly as it had came, her temper left her, tossed aside in favour of her irrepressible sense of humour.

"Potter you are impossible. _AH!_ but you infuriate me, you provoke me only to laugh at me when you succeed!"

There was exasperation in her tone mixed with frustration and a lingering huff of anger but something else flickered in those dark eyes, a hint of sadness or hurt. Henry's brows snapped together over his nose and his lips parted, meaning to ask the cause but she was already pushing him away with that too-bright smile. Her chin lifted cockily, her grin was pure mischief and she slipped closer to him, tucking her hand though his arm with a chuckle.

"But better now than later; me slapping you might spoil slightly people's idea of a fairy-tale romance. "

Her eyes glinted in challenge up at him before dancing in triumph as they caught the answering twitch of amusement. Dark and liquid, rimmed in kohl and framed in a thick fringe of black lashes, they stood out like pools of midnight against the glory of her bronzed skin. Her lips were matt but the colour was a deep crimson to match the gloves he'd caught a brief glimpse of earlier and were still the only part of her ensemble he'd seen. They curved and laughed and pouted all at once, soft and full and so close, with his eyesight he could pick out the fine ridges of the skin.

Henry snapped out of his thoughts and lifted his gaze to stare almost coldly over her head. He missed the smile fade slightly.

"Why the mystery Monroe? If your coiffure is anything to go by, you will collect your usual thousand hearts the moment you enter the room. "

Smooth, polite yet somehow faintly bitter. The smile vanished. Then it returned, a little forced but just as bright.

"Tonight I supposedly seduce the most eligible bachelor society has to offer. Hopefully if I dazzle everyone else enough, no one will notice that its intended object could not be more indifferent. "

Beneath the flash of teeth there was a bite to the words that Henry did not comprehend. He frowned infinitesimally, even more inexplicably annoyed and even more aggravated by his not knowing why. He almost asked but the face of the clock on the mantelpiece caught his eye, indicating that they should have been on there way ten minutes ago.

So Henry accio-ed the muggle top hat Moniqua had provided for him, raised an eyebrow and when Moniqua nodded back, lifted his wand and aparated them to London's ballroom; The Hôtel Avalon.

* * *

"It's a charity with the aim to improve the Hogwarts Fund for children from underprivileged families, particularly those whose parents are muggles. Every entrance fee tonight will be donated towards the fund."

"Indeed. An admirable goal….to…to help those less fortunate. " Basilius Crouch swallowed, his adams-apple bobbing under clammy skin. He was making a desperate attempt to keep his gaze on his companions own but every now and then his libido betrayed him, sending his eyes darting greedily downwards before forcing them once more to the young woman's face rather than…elsewhere.

He was rewarded with a dazzling smile.

"Exactly! Increasing this fund would go a long way to ensuring that every child has the opportunity to be judged on his talent alone rather than his social standing and his means. I know that your brother and yourself offer aid to the Saint Mungo's fund and have done for years. I was…I was hoping that you might do me the favour of assisting me in convincing him that our cause is just as worthy. "

It was flawlessly done. The faintest plaintive tone in that musical voice, the forlorn tilt of the head, the passionate yet hopeful gaze, all stirring a strange urge to protect and serve the little minx to the best of one's ability. No one could doubt that Moniqua Monroe was a mistress of the art of persuasion. In one move she had already convinced the unsuspecting lecher that he was on her side and that she depended on him for further aid. One could almost pity Basilius.

The Head of the Auror Department's self control faltered once again and he practically drooled as Moniqua leaned to the side slightly to wave in greeting to an acquaintance, causing the soft mounds of flesh to strain against the scarlet bodice that was torturing every man present that night. Henry's eyes burned black.

Almost but quite.

She turned back with that sweet smile as though oblivious to the man's trembling fingers nor his unmistakably tight trousers. Muggle clothes were less forgiving to their men than dress robes. And the tiny quiver at the left corner of her mouth indicated that she was not only aware but also taking malicious pleasure in the sleazy lech's difficulty. In a flash of pure mischief she folded her arms demurely and then squeezed. Basilius' eyes popped out of his sockets. For one fell moment the Monroe smirk threatened to break loose.

Enough.

" Your brother is hear tonight, I hope? " another innocent probing as he strode across the room to the pair. Crouch swallowed and tried desperately to focus on the question.

"Ah…Yes, I mean… of course. " he pulled himself together and held out his arm eagerly. "Allow me to… "

"No. "

The single syllable punctured Crouch's balloon like a quill. He gaped for a few seconds before glowering at his subordinate and spluttering indignantly

"No? Potter, I must ask who the hell do you think you… "

Henry cut him off smoothly.

"I am this lady's date, sir and as such may claim her as I wish. It is my…_duty_…do you not think? " he allowed the words to linger softly and meaningfully in the air, " As her escort of course. "

Crouch swallowed and sucked on the inside of his mouth, his face red with rage at having been thwarted but he could not admonish the insolent young upstart for fulfilling his assignment. With a pompous huff and one last lingering look at the girl waiting demurely for a resolution to the conflict, he strode away, bulbous nose lifted in the air.

The moment he was out of sight, Moniqua swung round in a blaze of fury.

"How dare you? You stupid, _ignorant, arghhh…._ Do you but have one idea of how much money _hee_ could have donated, how much _heez_ brozer could? "

Her breathing was laboured as she forced her voice to remain quiet, but the return of her normally barely noticeable French accent, indicated how furious she really was. On another occasion Henry might have almost smiled. Monroe lost her English along with her temper.

Tonight, he found it nauseating.

"If this is your idea of discretion; our marriage will of even shorter duration than I supposed. " he said silkily. Moniqua gaped at him in growing indignation. It took her almost a minute to be able to force the words out civilly,

"I TH-ink, " she said pronouncing the syllable with deadly precision, "that we should step outside and continue TH-is discussion in private. "

His lip curled and he held out an arm with insulting courtesy. She took it with a smile so brilliant it was blinding under the glory of the chandeliers.

It took them some ten minutes to successfully cross the ballroom and the endless greetings, pointed smiles and knowing looks strained both of them to breaking point. Still Henry nodded coolly to each one and Moniqua's smile stayed in place until her cheek-muscles ached with the effort. Only when the gentle breeze blew on their rigid faces and a quick glance had assured them they were alone, did the masks finally slip.

Moniqua wrenched her arm out his hold with a hiss of fury.

"Why? Why did you interrupt? Do you know how badly the fund needs patrons? TH-at is why I organised this ball, TH-at is why we are here _enfin_! "

His gaze was cold as glass.

"So in need of funds that Dumbledore send's you out to serve yourself on a silver plate to the highest bidder? " he replied silkily.

Moniqua's eyes opened wide.

"How dare you! "

The slap rang out over the terrace and into the starry night. They were on the first floor, and the light shining through the drawn curtains that concealed the ballroom inside from view, cast a golden glow on the pair. Not enough to hide the red stain on Henry's cheek.

Time seemed to roll back, they could have been standing in the Head Dorm's, walls at each other's backs, badges glinting on their chests as they battled. The sound of skin on skin was familiar, she had struck him more times than she could count. He had never returned the blows though. Not once in three years had he laid hand on her, but his icy contempt, the loathing dripping from his velvet voice, had always hurt more. Just as it hurt now.

"It explains the secrecy. Do you expect me to, as you put it, act like a man "bewitched " when the prize is being showcased to almost everyone but me? "

Merlin did it hurt. Each word, each sneer cut like flechette through her skin. The anger was trickling away, replace by pain, humiliation and the bitter taste of disappointment. She'd hoped, like a fool, that maybe this dress would be the one. The one to convince him that she could perhaps be something more than a mere business arrangement with the Ministry. No one could call it slutty, anger burned in her throat. Compared to some of the "ladies " present she was practically overdressed. He was being cruel and more to the point untruthful.

Womanly pride suddenly took hold and she lifted her chin with a flash of those dark eyes

"Believe me I do not! You barely have the capacity to act like you tolerate my company and you are indifferent to my person to the point of people remarking it with curiosity! He does not like her, he does not desire her; whey then does she stay? Already people ask why, before nodding their heads and shrugging as they "understand". Of course they say, where there is gold, there need not be love. _PAH! _Do YOU think of how it feels to have the entire world think you are marrying a man for his money? And that this person dare's demand other men's wealth to fund a charity whose idea now seems at best far-fetched, at worst blatant hypocrisy? "

She seethed and stormed like a cat in a cage, pacing up and down the white stone terrace with her hands clenching at her sides. Her tirade finished she paused for breath, her breasts heaving and her fingers trembling still with suppressed rage.

All the while through her rant Henry had not moved. His beautifully toned framed stood rigid as a statue against the balustrades, his gaze black as the night and almost feverish but his face was empty of any emotion at all.

"Come here. " he finally said, expressionless as his features.

She turned on the spot, her cheeks still flushed to glare through the half-light at him.

_"Je te demande pardon? _" I beg your pardon; fierce not polite.

"Come here. " he lifted his head and his gaze, chestnut locks sleek and smooth and tipped in gold from the light of the ballroom. His eyes had lost some of their black fire, but still the burned, the flames golden too with flecks of green. They stared at each other for a long moment, one waiting, one mistrusting, one determined like steel, the other toying with anger and confusion.

She went. Close enough to touch but not quite. Her expression was still fierce, her red pout turned down and pressed shut.

"Well? " she asked with a lingering hint of frustration. He said nothing a moment, before slowly parting his lips.

"I apologise Monroe. "

Moniqua's eyes widened. Henry drew a deep breath as though to force out the seldom-used words.

"It was shameful of me not to consider the damage to your reputation my…indifference, as you put it, could cause. " he was already over his brief discomfort, the words coming smoother now, but also colder, more distant as the mask slipped back into place.

"I shall improve my efforts to convince the world that we are the happy couple they so dearly want to believe we are. "

Moniqua looked at him just a little sadly.

"I thank you. " she said softly, shifting her gaze away from his.

To her surprise he cleared his throat almost loudly, bringing her head back round to stare at him in bewilderment. .

"The first step of which, if you agree, should be carried out as planned. Probably in the ten minutes or so after out returning to the ballroom."

Moniqua frowned, lost for a moment when suddenly memory of the idea he was talking about returned. Her eyes turned quite round and she stared at him wondering if she had read his meaning correctly. Henry leant forward ever so slightly, lowering his gaze to the floor in a gesture of unease she'd never seen from him and the confusion grew.

"However, due to my training, I have not had the occasion to be intimate a woman in just over two years. If you are agreeable, it might perhaps be prudent to…rehearse the event briefly before performing in front of a live audience, so to speak. " he paused,

"One would not wish the media to think that this is unprecedented and purely for their benefit, would one? "

The tiniest glimmer of a smile lifted his beautiful lips and Moniqua picked her jaw up off the floor in somewhat of a daze. Then out of nowhere, she burst into throaty laughter.

"_Mon Dieu Potter! _That is the worst request for a kiss I have ever in my life heard! "

Henry rolled his eyes.

"The next time I shall prepare roses and singing cupids. "

Moniqua choked on her giggles before his words suddenly registered, sobering her almost immediately. Henry rolled his eyes even more scornfully.

"It is somewhat expected that we show some form of public affection from time to time. The announcement of our courtship for example that is to take place next week. "

Moniqua blinked, praying that her flush would not betray her thoughts. To cover the moment she summoned her most dazzling smile, cocking her head teasingly to the side.

"Rose petals I would much prefer, but the cupids…_oh que oui! _They would make a statement. I might just hold you to that promise. " she twinkled wickedly. Henry met her look for look, a gleam in his deep hazel eyes that could have been amusement.

"Permit me to first ascertain if it is worth the effort. "

His rare humour caused her lips to part in shock, but Henry caught the gasp that escaped from them with his own.

It was soft and slow and almost chaste, just the merest brush of skin against skin, nerves against nerves. Two breaths mingled in the warm summer air, as they drew gently back, their mouths hovering barely a centimetre apart. After so long, so many years of wanting, it was almost cruel to have it end so short. Moniqua would have thought so if she'd been asked a year, even a month earlier. But right then, right there, at that moment, she couldn't dream of it being any other way.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Henry straightened up, his gaze dark as hers with the shadow of the night and perhaps other things too. The seconds ticked past; neither looked away.

Moniqua started as his cool fingers found the warmth of her left glove. As she stood mesmerised, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the silk, just hard enough to feel the pressure through the fabric. It was though a lump had come into her throat without her noticing, perhaps during those blissful few seconds when he was kissing her. She was sure she wouldn't have noticed.

"Shall we return to the ball? " he asked quietly.

All she could do was nod.

* * *

If the first kiss was simple, long-awaited bliss, the second was undoubtedly bitter-sweet. Pulling away that second time without the promise of more, Moniqua had never believed such torture existed. The rounds of tremendous applause fell on deaf ears as only the tingle in her lips seemed real. The throng screamed, some cried and others merely glowered in envy. But these malicious few were well in the minority. Moniqua felt her cheeks warm as her younger friends winked and grinned knowingly, a couple even going so far as to discreetly lick their lips at her. She choked between laughter and embarrassment and glanced up to see her soon to be courtier looking down at her with an indecipherable expression in his eyes.

Gentle as a sigh, a well-muscled arm crept round her waist and loosely held it.

He didn't meet her stunned gaze, and she could see the tension in his neck and shoulders, but he never removed his reassuring hold and despite herself, despite the hoards of people still clambering to shake her hand, kiss her cheek and offer her their congratulations, the only touch she felt that night was the warm pressure on her left hip.

* * *

**=) =) =) A HAPPY cliff-hanger for once lol! How often does that happen in my stories. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it, or finishing it rather, since the scene with the kiss I think I wrote sometime around last Christmas (mistletoe and all that ^^) **

**As you can see they're making progress. They're not in love or rather Henry is but has no clue whatsoever and therefore doesn't count sigh, and Moniqua is but well, I would be depressed about loving a guy like Henry too XD He's cold, self-centred and often quite cruel but for those he loves, he will walk to the ends of the earth for. It's quite fun watching Moniqua becoming one of these people. =) And I like Moniqua, she represents the person I've always wanted to be whereas Henry represents the person I am sigh.**

**And of course one last note, All Over Again Chapter 27 will be up as soon as humanely possible, but probably not until after my exams which will be somewhere during not this coming week but the following. =( I really am sorry and I hope you'll forgive me.**

**Again a HUGE thank you to all my reviewers but especially one particular one who goes only by the name of "fan " and whose reviews always give me a well-needed boot up my behind to start typing =D Because you're anonymous I can't reply in person but I would like to say thank you very very much! This chapter was finished a day early thanks to you XD**

**Luv y'all**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x **

**PS: Sorry for any mistakes, I know I say this every time but it is now 6 in the morning and I've been typing and studying alternately since 8 last night. XD Oh and READ AND REVIEW! Please ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey there all! You probably don't even remember me any more, that's how late I am updating sigh =( I seem to be apologising with every new chapter now don't I. Oh well, I am sorry none the less. **

**I've had this ready for three weeks or so because I was determined only to put it up when I updated All Over Again as well. But that was before my entire first draft got deleted accidentally meaning that I had to start again from scratch and any writer who's very very cleverly done this themselves will know just how depressing it is. X( Still it's no excuse and I am sorry for deserting you for almost two months!**

**Why I am posting this now, on its own, is for two reasons. ^^**

**a) it's valentines day and Cassandra AKA GreenlyToxic, it's for you lol and **

**b) I am ALMOST done with AOA Chapter 27 and I want to tell you all about it lol ^^**

**Basically I've been in a dilemma, being that this Chapter as you may or may not remember will take place during the Hogsmede Saturday and lots of different things will be happening.**

**Firstly and most importantly, will be James' plan, that I'm really really hoping you'll all like. If I can get it right it should be so romantic, so beautiful, so magical that you'll be half-way to forgiving him for being such a ginormous prat and so will Lily ;) This will of course be the main part of the chapter and they'll be lots f J/L goodiness, lots of romance, lots of laughter and sweetness which this couple deserve after all they've been through lol.**

**The next PLACE that we'll be is with Sirius. He has his own issues to deal with during this same day and a little of the mystery behind him and his past will become clearer. We'll see people we haven't met before in AOA and it'll be completely different from the L/J half, with lots of angst, lots of anger and lots of very dark memories.**

**At night fall we'll visit Moniqua and find out what progress she's been making.**

**And then last but not least, we'll be in Hogsmede with the rest of the gang, Remus Peter, Alice Frank, Jenny, Emily, Jamie, and some of that mystery will come up too, for those who are interested. Plus lots of Slytherins beurk XD**

**So there's my plan; but I had a lot of trouble trying to set it out lol. All of this would make a single Chapter of almost 25 000 words, which you'll agree is a hell of a lot. So I've ended up splitting it in two but I'm not quite finished deciding which bits go where lol ^^ BUT I am almost done and, with a little luck should put up BOTH Chapters very very soon.**

**Et voila. Only one last thing to say is a HUGE thank you for everyone who keeps reviewing my stories even when I'm so many months late! You all really inspire me and get me writing all the quicker. So many of you are anonymous so I can't think you in person but really do know that I am MEGA grateful lol =) Don't give up on me now lol please! **

**And to _fan_, thank you thank you thank you! This chapter is dedicated to you ;) **

**Luv you ALL!**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x **

* * *

First Steps Part 5:

Although not the richest nor the most extravagant, the Prewett's Summer Ball was nevertheless one of the most exclusive, modish social events of the season; any one who was anyone in the Pureblood Society would naturally be present.

For centuries it had been traditional for each family of the famous "Select Seven to host a Ball of such proportions that would, in the past at least, cast any lesser families' efforts well into the shade. Nowadays however, only five of the families retained enough of the family fortune and estates to continue the custom and many others of slightly lesser lineage but undoubtedly more wealth had eagerly stepped into the breach. The Weasleys, although remaining both popular and respected by all but the most prejudiced of Wizarding lines, had long seen their estates divided between too many heirs to be able to continue the practice. The Gaunts were, so it seemed, all but extinct.

But the five remaining families carried on the yearly tradition faithfully and every year each was grander than the last as each dynasty doubled its efforts to outshine the others. Even if, as in the Prewett's case, the head of the family was largely indifferent to such one-upping, his wife and offspring seldom shared their disinterest.

Sylvester Bilius Prewett was such a Patriarch and his wife was such a woman to completely ignore his half-hearted protests as she threw open his house to the entire Wizarding Elite. Aided and abetted by his dragon of a daughter Muriel, his sweet, loving Mary hade mad her annual transformation into a typhoon of business-like determination; Sylvester gave up his attempts at regaining control of his household and barricaded himself into his study a week before the dreaded event. Even his heir, his heir's wife and their seven-year-old daughter Molly had betrayed him to the other side. Sylvester, it seemed, would be doomed to grouch and grumble to the only people who would listen; his one-year-old grandsons.

The one redeeming factor of the Ball was its utility for his most junior Auror's present assignment, but Sylvester could not bring himself to look upon this as a positive thing. Indeed it seemed the most bitter irony that the young couple he and his superiors had blackmailed into marriage, would be announcing their courtship under his own roof.

MJ had asked him for his permission with her head bent in unprecedented shyness, the question so hesitantly posed that he had been able to do no more than crush her gruffly into a bear-like embrace. Most such announcements were made at the house of the soon-to-be bride. That Moniqua was asking to declare the couple's courtship at The Prewett Ball, meant that she regarded him as she would her own father. Sylvester had felt the tears well up under his bushy brows and had had to distract from this embarrassment by asking gruffly whether Cicero was coming.

Moniqua had hesitated before shaking her dark head a little sadly.

"I believe not. his heart had ached for her as she smiled bravely," he still has not…accustomed himself, I think.

Sylvester had forced himself to smile back and had quickly changed the subject.

The announcement had been scheduled for just before the first course of the sumptuous seven-course banquet provided for the five hundred guests. Henry and Moniqua would be seated in the places of honour besides the host and hostess. This arrangement alone would be the proof needed for most of the eager of observers of what was to come, if they had had any remaining doubts.

Sylvester glowered into his glass of port and mentally prepared himself to sell his soul and his friends' to the corrupt and greedy devil.

* * *

"You're nervous."

Moniqua felt her body clench and then relax as his seemingly disembodied voice startled her out of her abstraction. She turned to see him barely a pace behind her, and unconsciously her crimson stained lips tilted upwards a little ruefully. He had always born himself with the grace of an angel but ever since his return from training, he seemed to move so silently he barely caused the air to tremor. It was almost unnatural, she thought to herself, watching him with her head cocked pensively to the side, and yet she couldn't imagine him any different.

He had been ready some forty-five minutes in advance, but even as he watched her flap and pace and fuss and fluster, not one sigh of impatience had crossed his lips, nor one frown of exasperation. Why exactly he had ended up watching her arrange her coiffure and make-up, accompanied by a great many curses and expletives when the pins pricked her scalp and more than one brush ended up crushed into splinters under a furious foot, she wasn't really sure.

He'd stood there silent as a shadow never commenting, never smiling. She'd ignored him determinedly, focusing instead on the reason for his presence in her bedroom and Moriarty clicked in answer to her smiles and cheerful commentary. Due to the owl's natural reluctance to do anything other than sleep during the daylight hours and their own tendency to be out during the evening, the stubborn and decidedly spoilt bird had decided he would not pass up the opportunity to spend time with his soon-to-be Mistress and had taken to honouring her preparations for the evening's outing with his presence.

Henry had therefore, under orders and with a face as rigid as stone, carried the smug-looking bird into his mark's bedchamber and deposited him unceremoniously on the top of the antique mirror as was becoming per usual.

What was not usual however was the events that had followed. He had turned to leave when she'd called him over with an impatient stamp of her foot and demanded whether he thought black was too sombre for the occasion.

Never having been called upon to give his opinions on a female's dress before, Henry was, for a short moment, completely and utterly stumped, but happily for his reputation of omniscience, Moniqua in true womanly style did not require an answer.

Instead she spun round in a swirl of scarlet dressing gown and marched back to the where the dress hung suspended by magic, muttering to herself all the while.

A more cowardly man would have perhaps made his escape at that moment but Henry Potter had, however reluctantly been sorted into Gryffindor, and therefore possessed no small amount of courage. Wisely or not, he stood his ground and waited for the gesture of dismissal that did not come.

He had said not a word while she twisted up her long hair into an elaborate knot and then let it down once more with a huff before repeating the entire procedure four times over. Not even the powder puff being thrown dangerously close to his head in frustration had had the effect of doing more than pinch his nostrils slightly as he flicked the tiniest speck of white from his spotless dress robes.

Only when she had sat motionlessly before the glass for over a minute in subdued contemplation did he break his own long silence and come like a shadow to stand behind her.

"You're nervous."

It was of course true. Moniqua felt a small surge of frustration as he pronounced the fact she had been so desperately trying to hide from him since the beginning. It was typical of Potter to watch her flap like a headless chicken before finally informing her that he'd known the truth all along. Moniqua sighed.

"A little. she admitted, eyes still fixed unseeing on the glass.

She felt rather than heard him move closer still.

"Why?"

A flush of pink coloured her cheeks treacherously but she quickly tossed out her reckless laugh and shrugged off the question.

"Every woman must treasure her last night of being free and single." she threw back her head gaily. "I would think you would be doing the same."

Her dark curls gleamed like polished onyx as she turned on her seat to grin wickedly up at him, searching for an answering gleam of amusement, but tonight it did not come. Henry face was almost frowning, his eyes so piercing Moniqua swallowed and turned back to the mirror before he saw through all her deepest secrets.

"Tomorrow I am all but engaged, it is _quand même _an occasion." she said lightly, peeping through her lashes at him via the glass.

To her surprise something in his handsome face seemed to tense. Whatever feeling had briefly come into his eyes disappeared in an instant and Moniqua blinked at the silent withdrawal.

Somewhere in the back of her mind was the odd realisation that she was beginning to read him, impossible it sounded but it was true. The mask she had always deemed impenetrable was not entirely so, but only spending every day, every hour in her bodyguard's company was actually bringing this unbelievable truth to light.

The smooth, expressionless features were not set in stone. There were almost indecipherable twitches, fleeting expressions that would disappear before even the most observant stranger could catch them. Only one who knew him like their own reflection could make out these nano-second changes. The briefest clench of the very back of his jaw when he was angry. The slight softening of his eyes and the gleam of amusement that lurked so deep within them that it was all but obscured by the hazel and gold swirls.

He pressed his right wrist into his leg when under pressure; she wondered if it was to feel the cool touch of the bracelet he never removed, more strongly against his skin.

Never in three years had he seen his hair anyway but slicked smoothly back and down the nape of his neck but one single time, almost a month ago, one strand had been sticking out almost vertically from his head and had stayed that way until he'd caught sight of it in the mirror. He'd disappeared to his room and when he'd returned, the hair was it's usual perfection. But still she wondered whether the beautiful order of his chestnut mane was not quite as natural as she'd always assumed.

Little things they were, and yet they both disconcerted and oddly pleased her. No one else she knew of could read him, no one was close enough to understand him; it gave her a small surge of pleasure to think that even her limited understanding was more than anyone else could boast of. But it also meant she was falling deeper, and Moniqua Monroe was not fool enough to deny that this was not a good thing.

His voice startled her out of her musings and she blinked a little as he said in his very coolest tone

"Of course. I shall leave you to mourn in peace."

It was one of these lightening fast changes of humour in him that she had yet to grasp, and he was already gripping the door-handle when she overcame the confusion and found the words to stay him.

"Potter wait!"

The handle turned with a rattle of metal on metal and Moniqua turned just as sharply in her seat.

"_Attend MERDE_! Why…what NOW 'ave I done to upset you? Mourn? What is zis…stupidity? Do I seem to you to be attending a funeral?"

Perplexion and frustration laced her tone, her brows were snapped together in pique and she had stood up so abruptly from her chair that it had swung back on his hind legs, before falling once more to the ground. As always the French accent and curses seemed to pop out of nowhere as soon as her temper was ignited.

Henry paused, the strong cream fingers clasped rigid as marble around the gold knob. He seemed to want to go but inbred civility forbade him to leave when a person called him back. Moniqua stamped her foot; why the devil could he not turn round?

"This is…_RIDICULE _Potter! We are fine, we are civil, no, we are almost _friendly_, and then just like that you become enraged and leave! Why, _enfin_?"

He replied without turning around.

"You have still to dress, no? You have the right to your privacy."

Again he clasped the doorknob tighter and made to turn it but Moniqua let out something between a cry and a huff and stamped forward.

"We are about to become engaged! Heirs do not commonly produce themselves and I doubt I possess anything you have not seen before! I do not care about your so-well-timed prudishness, I care about your stupid sulking!

He swung round on the spot, a little pale about the mouth and had Moniqua been in a better temper she would have noticed with gleeful delight that the skin of his cheekbones were just a little flushed. But he answered with all his emotionless calm, only that quiver at the back of his jaw betraying his mixture of anger and discomfort.

"You are being ridiculous. he said icily, "I had assumed that a well-brought up, virtuous young lady might feel some slight discomfort at a stranger's presence while she completed her toilette. But I must bow to your better knowledge."

He accompanied the biting irony with the equally mocking gesture. When he raised his head once more, his lips were curled insultingly and Moniqua's eyes snapped with black sparks.

"Say in plain words what you think of me, sir." she hissed, "Please, do not allow such things as common civility to stand in your way."

He surveyed with unbreakable outward calm, but the tension rippled in waves off his entire body. He bit back with icy courtesy.

"The place in a Lady's boudoir as she dresses is one more commonly filled by either flirts or lovers. I neither am, nor aspire to either role."

The faintest curl of the lips indicated the distain that dripped from his flawlessly polite words and Moniqua flushed in temper and stormed back.

"As if I would have you! PAH!" she marched closer still, eyes flashing, breasts straining against her underwear in temper, and almost screamed at him.

"You are a selfish, arrogant, blind, egotistical pig and I HATE you! …"

"Thank you. You have expressed yourself fully and can now have no more to say. We leave in half an hour."

And with that, he turned on his heel in a swirl of robes and marched out the door. Moniqua watched it slam in his wake with scarlet cheeks and a heaving bosom.

* * *

The icy silence reigned all the while as, thirty-one minutes later, Moniqua marched from her bedroom and took her bodyguard's arm. If asked, neither would have admitted to regretting the latest argument, nor the deadly silence or even the stupidity of once again putting each other's back up mere hours before announcing their courtship.

Both were still blazingly angry. Both stubbornly denied their own culpability and the footman announcing their arrival at Prewett Manor looked upon the pair's frosty expressions slightly askance, until they forced their features to relax; hers into her most charming smirk, his into his least forbidding calm.

Henry was staring fixedly into nothing as he waited for his partner to remove her outer cloak and give it into the hands of the waiting house-elves. Through the beautiful ornate archway one could already pick the sounds of music and laughter echoing down the Entrance Hall to his ears. The Ball had barely begun, and as the guests of honour, being fashionably late was, for once, not an option.

Her hand slipping into the crook of his arm awoke him from his abstraction and with the briefest roll of his eyes he readied himself for the challenge ahead. When he finally looked down into the girl's upturned face, not a hint of his emotions could be guessed at.

Her own were not so well hidden, but although some were expected others took him by surprise. The frustration still flickered like the tail of an angry cat; impatience sparked and spat like roaring flames but the hurt, the weariness in those endless pools of midnight, slipped under his guard and to his shock, made a tiniest feeling of guilt twinge somewhere in his chest.

While he was still reeling from this revelation, she sighed, a wistful rise and fall of her breast and it drew the eye to the ball gown she had taken to hiding from him until the moment of arrival.

It was black, the very blackest velvet stretching over her torso in a strapless bodice, so black in fact it looked uniform until one stepped into the light and the twirling patterns could just be seen. The under skirt was the same stiff material, covered in a layer of sheer black gauze that seemed to gleam like stars in a midnight sky. A single diamond sparkled like the North Star on the patch of velvet that veiled the smooth brown cleft between her breasts, as though to draw the eye to that secret shadow in unfair, cruel torment. Henry stared at it for nine seconds before recollecting his wits and reaching with his free hand into his pocket.

A box was drawn out, a flat velvet one as black as her dress and her brows snapped together as he released her arm to open in deftly with both hands without meeting her eye.

"It is customary to give a gift when one enters into a courtship," he said stiffly, "At our engagement you will receive the Potter ring but knowing that such things are not to your taste I thought perhaps this would be a little more…personnel."

She blinked up at him in such astonishment that part of him grimaced inwardly at what she must think of him. Obviously not the sort to bestow a gift without warning nor reason. To hide his slight irritation he swiftly undid the clasp and opened the box, before turning around and presenting it to her wordlessly.

Moniqua gasped.

Inside was a choker of diamonds, gleaming against the silk in the candlelight. Circles of the precious stones glittered in an interlinked woven pattern, with tiny diamond laurels and scrolls filling the gaps and entwining the bulls-eyes to form a smooth, three-inch thick band around the neck. It was nothing short of breathtaking.

Moniqua stared until her eyes blurred and a thousand tiny lights danced and sparkled on the black silk.

"It's…" Henry found himself holding his breath.

"Too much!"

The man's brows lowered into a frown and he rolled his eyes with a inward snort of exasperation. He shut the box with a snap and made to shove it back into the depths of his extendible pockets, inwardly cursing females and their caprices.

"Then I will return it tomorrow and endeavour to find something more to your taste." he answered almost snappily, when her hands suddenly reached up and grabbed it back. Henry stared as she held the box protectively to her chest, eyeing him as though he were mad.

"You will do no such thing! Are you deranged?" she demanded roundly, before opening the slim case once more with reverence.

"_C'est merveilleux_." she whispered.

A minute pause, just a moment and then…

Henry smiled.

The woman before him could barely believe her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as what had happened maybe three, four times in her memory occurred now. His full lips quirked and then stretched upwards in a slow, ridiculously seductive curve and the warmth in his usually empty eyes nearly stopped her heart. Moniqua could only stare, a drum beating in her chest and a lump in her throat she could not swallow as she fought the urge to lean up and kiss him until the stars she saw were real.

It could not last forever of course, and a few moments later that beautiful smile disappeared back under his mask but the warmth was still there as was the gold glow in his eyes.

"You seemed…discontent the other evening whilst wearing a dress similar to this one. A choker seemed eminently desirable and diamonds means that you are not restrained in regards to colour."

Moniqua nodded dumbly, her gaze falling back once more to the glittering wreath. She took a steadying breath and said almost shyly

"Put it on for me?"

Henry hesitated and then nodded, his long, immaculately manicured fingers picking up the choker carefully before stepping forward until their entire bodies were almost touching.

Moniqua turned around wordlessly and a moment later, the cool bliss of platinum against her skin was smothered by the warmer touch of his fingertips upon her neck.

They lingered there. Moniqua fought to steady her galloping heartbeat, telling herself over and over again that it meant nothing. She mustn't get her hopes up, mustn't allow his touch to affect her, although she supposed at least the flush in her cheeks and the lustre in her gaze could be expected in a young woman about to embark on the courtship with the love of her life.

He'd always wondered if that flawless expanse of gold was a soft and velvety to the touch as it looked. The fashion for strapless dresses displayed Monroe's back at it's most glorious and a number of times Henry had caught his gaze lingering there when they walked and mingled. Now he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away, watching as though fascinated as the tiny white hairs on the back of her neck stood up under his touch. As though she was affected by it, aroused…

Henry drew his hand back with a mental shake of the head and invisibly drew back into his shell. Monroe tensed and then, after a brief hesitation turned around to face him once more, her cheeks ever so faintly flushed. The choker circled her slim neck like a glittering collar, emphasizing the smooth set of those gleaming shoulders, the delicate collar bone and two round curves of her bust. She was magnificent. Henry forced himself to ignore this and held out his arm with cool politeness.

"We should go in." he said expressionlessly, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over her head and recognising this retreat back into himself, Moniqua sighed.

She took the arm held out to her though and allow him to lead her towards the majestic archway, waiting for the blinding light of the chandeliers that, sure enough, came just moments later.

Moniqua blinked, pinned on her most brilliant smile and waited as the footman announced their arrival in a booming voice that echoed around the ballroom, and every guest stopped and stared.

_"Henry Charlus Potter, son of Charlus, son of Leonus and Moniqua Jasmina Monroe, daughter of Cicero!"_

The announcement that had set the masses whispering and giggling for almost two months now, it rang out over the crowd. Sylvester as host came forward to meet the guest at the very bottom step of the impressive marble staircase, clad in autumn browns and golds that set off what was left of the copper in his grizzled mane. Mary was at his side, the famous Prewett Tiara on her head, her hand in his and her smile soft and gentle as ever.

Moniqua felt her heart warm at the sight of the figures from her childhood. She curtsied respectfully and at her side Henry bowed his most graceful bow. Then she took the soft hands outstretched to her, returning Mary's loving clasp and smiling brilliantly as the candles.

"How are you my child? Your mother, she goes well I hope. My dear Marie."

"She sends you her love and thoughts Madame," Moniqua said, "To 'my English self', were her exact words."

Mary laughed softly and turned to throw a loving glance towards her husband, inviting him to join her in welcoming their guest of honour, which a moment he did so.

"Potter." he nodded gruffly, eyeing his subordinate's fine robes, "I see MJ's got you all tricked up like a damned pony too. When you can't stand any more, ask the house-elf to conduct you to the 'East Drawing Room' to revive your spirits."

The corner of Henry's mouth twitched in amusement, as the woman at his side shot their host her fiercest glare. Before she could let loose the scathing retort on her lips however, Henry took it upon himself to step prudently into the breach, saying smoothly,

"I thank you sir, but I am on duty."

Without looking, he felt the tension in Moniqua's shoulders disappear and the gleam of amusement in his eyes became more pronounced. Sylvester grumbled, but under his wife's calm gaze, beyond looking pitifully at his fellow man, he made no comment. Instead he waved the pair to move on and join the rest of the guests which, with one last bow and curtsey, they did.

As soon as they were out of sight, Moniqua let out a huff.

"_N'y pense même pas!"_ she hissed under her breath. Don't even THINK about it! The corner of Henry's mouth twitched treacherously.

"Why ever not?" he said, unable to resist the lure of provoking his old schoolmate. As ever, she rose delightfully to the bait, nodding to friends and acquaintances with her most brilliant smile as they made their way across the ballroom.

"If you T'INK zat on za night we announce our courtship, you will disappear off to ze men's drinking room, I tell you now,…"

"Monroe,"

She broke off her whispered tirade with flushed cheeks and a militant sparkle.

"What?" she demanded petulantly.

He eyed her consideringly for a moment before saying simply

"Grant me the honour of this dance."

Before she had time to answer they had reached the edge of the floor and he swept her into hold just as the musicians began to strike up for the next song.

The music was medium tempo and charming, a classic waltz and Moniqua felt her body relaxing into the natural one-two-three movement, her tension gradually seeping away as the sensation of coming home swept over her. The other twenty or so couples swirled and twirled around them, flashes of coloured ball-dresses, and an endless sea of face's looking on as more and more people arrived, filling up the room until it buzzed like a hive of bees.

The first waltz passed like a breath, the second like a sigh and the third was just starting up when Moniqua stirred from her silent abstraction. She looked up at her partner with a sheepish grin, silently apologising for her lack of attentiveness. Henry met her eyes briefly but made no answer, lifting his chin almost immediately once more, and Moniqua wondered at the coldness that had returned to his beautiful face without her realising. But before she could ask, he changed the direction of their movement with a deft grace that momentarily took her breath away.

It was her turn to watch him. His carefully blank gaze fixed somewhere over her head, never dropping as she glared impatiently up at him. The urge to stamp her foot was overwhelming as the minutes passed and still he refused to meet her eyes. He had shut himself away once more, and she was damned if she knew why.

"Potter!" his name finally escaped in frustration from her determinedly smiling lips. He did not deign to glance down.

"Monroe." he answered coolly, and Moniqua's breast swelled with temper. In a fit of pique she resorted to something she had not done since the age of seven; she trod on her partner's foot.

The fierce stamp of her stiletto heel made his eyes momentarily widen in unexpected pain, before finally looking at her as though planning her immediate demise. Inwardly, Moniqua swallowed, unnerved, though she would never admit to it, by the murderous look in his face but she stared stubbornly back, chin lifted in challenge.

"Do not SULK!" she whispered severely and the tiny muscle in his jaw quivered with the effort it took to restrain himself.

"Monroe," he finally forced out, "you are…nonsensical."

The biting hesitation before pronouncing that last word indicated how much he would have like to have replaced with another, less cordial epithet, but his courtesy was so inbred even she could rarely provoke into losing it, and certainly not in public.

Still, the pitifully inept attempt at an insult tickled her sense of the ridiculous and provoked her into a throaty chuckle.

It took him by surprise, chasing away the black look in his eye and replacing it with a hint of confusion. After watching her laugh for a few seconds, he rolled his eyes.

"If I end up strangling you in our bed Monroe, you will be have come by your just desserts." he said grimly.

She grinned up at him, laughter still gurgling on her crimson lips and something clenched somewhere in his chest, before he swiftly pushed it to the side. He could not allow himself to become angry again. Too much was at stake for him to risk their cover in a fit of annoyance, but by Merlin, he would defy any sane male in the room not to be enraged by the infuriating woman in his arms.

He caught her watching him curiously and swiftly retreated back behind his walls. She noticed too much, the two months living with her had taught him that much. Just like their last year at Hogwarts. He'd let her in too far back then; he had no intention of letting her in any further.

The music came to a gentle stop and with a brief feeling of relief Henry let go off his hold around her waste and bowed. She curtseyed back, a low sweep of those velvet and gauze skirts and as she dropped her head and her body, his view of the gold curve of her cleavage was suddenly even greater than their height differences already made possible.

Henry cursed himself for swallowing and quickly took the hand outstretched to him and pulled her to her feet.

Moniqua frowned slightly as he dragged her arm through his with not-quite his usual calm, but as soon as they were off the dance floor, people flooding to the pair's side, congratulating them on their performance, searching desperately for hints and gossip and altogether making it impossible to ponder her partner's odd humour.

Couple after couple smiled and laughed and small-talked and moved on. Blacks and Abbotts, Mcmillans and Crouchs, Smiths and Weasleys, the list went on and on. Bones, Moody, Vance and Mckinnon, Henry's fellow aurors stopped to wish the couple well and laugh about how missions went a lot slower with the brightest new star on permanent body-guard duty. Basilius Crouch lost no time in kissing Moniqua's hand almost indecently, oblivious to the scowl of his blond wife. His brother, the up and coming Head of the Magical-Law enforcement department nodded in his curt way and Dumbledore himself came up to hug his former head girl with his eyes twinkling like bright blue stars.

Finally both could stand the oppressive questions no longer, and Moniqua threw her audience one final smile before touching her bodyguard lightly on the arm. He was surrounded by no less than seven important businessmen, all decades older than him and all listening with rapt attention to his smooth, beautifully precise discourse.

But at her touch his handsome head turned and, with a nod and a hint of an apologetic look, he excused them both under the excuse of thirst. The men laughed and winked knowingly and Henry bore it all with tolerant good-humour, promising to return later and discuss in greater detail his idea of investing in a young inventor named Zacharias Zonko.

The couple slipped out of the throng and made their way to one of the galleries leading out to the gardens. It was cooler there, and Moniqua breathed in the fresh air that blew in from the open, seven-foot tall windows with a sigh of relief.

The woman standing by the very largest of these arches swung round with a stifled exclamation, before relaxing as she recognised the intruders. Henry frowned as his partner turned and without out warning Monroe let out a gasp of disbelief.

Druella Juno Black née Rosier, shot a quick glance behind her and came forward with an answering smile.

"Moniqua Monroe, tonight is truly the night of nostalgia."

Moniqua returned the smile eagerly and took the hands outstretched.

"Druella Rosier, or should I say Black. It has been years! _Je n'arrive pas à le croire!"_

Remembering her manners she turned to Henry.

"Mistress Black was our equivalent of Head Girl in my second year of Beauxbatons Academy. One of our two English invaders," she gleamed mischievously, and the older woman smiled a little ruefully as Henry bowed over her outstretched hand.

"Indeed. Almost eight years ago now." Druella glanced between the pair and then looked to Henry once more.

"I imagine I need not tell you Mister Potter, that Moniqua created quite a name for herself before deserting to Hogwarts." she said with a gleam of amusement "And not just for her Quidditch skills."

Moniqua had the grace to look momentarily sheepish but the wicked grin could not be suppressed for long. Her eyes danced with the memory of past naughtiness and she asked

"How does Amelie de Belle-Isle go on?"

Druella Black let out a tinkling laugh.

"Well. I believe she still refuses to support the French Quidditch Team, though between you and I, she ever had a soft spot for the most impertinent second year Beauxbatons has ever seen. She is expecting her first child - you will laugh - at the same time as I am pregnant with my second and Evie too expects her first."

Henry watched the pair share another laugh and felt a twinge of curiosity. He had never thought to learn more of Monroe's life in France. He knew of it, but had never felt a need to press her for details and she rarely volunteered information about that period of her life. So he listened more intently as Monroe asked whether Mistresses Black's cousin was present that evening, suppressing the urge to ask of which cousin they spoke.

The tall, golden haired woman smile became just a little strained but to her credit, she did not glance behind towards the gardens where Henry could here the distinct sounds of two people, waiting nervously behind one of the many ornamental topiaries.

It seemed to prudent for them to leave; Mistress Black, however well she hid it, was more than a little nervous, betrayed by the loud thump of her quickened heartbeat. Henry pressed Moniqua's arm and smoothly asked if she was ready to return to the Ballroom.

Moniqua studied him curiously for a moment but agreed with yet another blinding smile, holding out her hands once more to her old friend before slipping them through the gentleman's outstretched arm. They exchanged promises of catching up later in the evening and the couple exited the gallery.

"You were in a hurry to leave." Moniqua inquired almost immediately when they were out of sight. Henry frowned slightly, but explaining could lead down routes best left untrodden.

"I thought perhaps you might desire a glass of mead." he said calmly.

Moniqua looked up at him a little strangely. He had taken them into one of the side rooms, set with a few chairs for those who might wish to rest a while before returning to the lights and splendour of the ballroom. He led her to one of these and once she was seated snapped his fingers commandingly.

A loud CRACK was immediately accompanied my the appearance of a house-elf, dressed smartly in a spotless champagne gold tea-towel with the Prewett arms at his breast.

"Sir?"

"A glass of mead for the lady," he hesitated eyeing the said lady consideringly before giving in to temptation, "and a firewhiskey for myself."

On cue, Moniqua's eyes fair shot sparks at him from across the room and the corner of his lips twitched in triumph. Before she could do more than scowl at him however, the little elf was gone and back again, with a glass in each long-greenish hand. Henry took them with a nod and a word of thanks, and when the elf had disappeared once more with another POP, he handed the tall delicate flute to his partner.

She took it mutinously, repressing the urge to throw it in his face and instead fixed her sweetest smile onto her features.

"Thank you." she said bitingly and held out her out glass to meet his, but just before they chinked, his low voice made her start with surprise.

"To us." he murmured softly, holding her gaze and waiting for her response. After the briefest hesitation Moniqua touched her flute to his more sturdier tumbler and repeated the toast.

"To us."

And the pair drank.

* * *

By the time they returned to the Ball, only a few last stragglers had yet to arrive and the massive room seemed suddenly a little cramped, filled as it was with so many bodies. Over by the foot of the massive staircase, Sylvester and Mary debated whether it was time to leave their post of welcome and join the throng. Henry and Moniqua made their way, again with difficulty, towards the centre of the room, in a silent agreement to join the next dance, when suddenly the booming voice of the footman announced a latecomer and at his rather stunned words, every head in the room turned.

"A…announcing Mistress Dorea Persephone…Dreamer, née Black.

There was utter silence.

Then the newcomer at the head of the stairs stepped into the light, head raised as haughtily as a queen and stood there poised with one hand resting lightly on the banister. All around her Moniqua heard five hundred breaths catch in five hundred throats and she herself felt her jaw drop in strangled wonder.

She was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen.

Mistress Dreamer took in the room and it's deadly silence in one long glance and then began the slow, deliberate descent down towards the masses. And as she walked every eye followed in pale, tingling enthrallment.

Her figure was slim and tall, she carried herself like a queen, slow, majestic and proud as martyr going to his death. Her skin was creamy white; smooth as silk, it made every lady present seem flushed and blemished. Her features were so perfect it hurt to look at them and as she took another step, Moniqua found herself blinking along with every one else as the woman's coiffure caught the glare of the chandeliers and glowed like a chestnut flame.

Thick, glossy, untameable masses of curls, piled up on the top of her head, some escaping to tumble down over her bare shoulders, and of such a colour…Moniqua searched her brain to remember where she had seen that glorious brown before.

Gold silk draped from her bare shoulders, gold broaches fastening the finery in place. The material gleamed like a river of molten lava, basking in the chandeliers glow and it hung from that tall figure like a sun goddess's radiance. Moniqua had never seen a dress like it, and never would again. It was made for this woman and this woman alone, to enhance her already impossible beauty and to enthral and capture every eye whose dared gaze upon it.

And when she finally stood before the gaping host and hostess, the Wizarding World seemed to stir and suddenly murmurs and whispers ran though the crowd swift as a breeze. Moniqua glanced around to find that many were looking their way and, disconcerted, she tilted her head closer to the gentleman beside her.

"Who is she?" she breathed and she thought she felt Henry tense beside her. Her curiosity mounted exponentially as she watched the woman curtsey to Sylvester and Mary, their faces white as though they beheld a ghost.

"Why do they stare?" she whispered even more softly and her partner seemed to take a deep breath.

Henry answered in a low, echoing monotone and as he spoke the hairs on her neck stood on end.

"They stare because they owe her that at least, not to shy away from their own guilt."

The murmured words rode the silence like galloping horse, quieter than the breaths that quickened around them, yet they struck the soul with thundering hooves. Like every other in the room, Moniqua could not drag her eyes away and Henry too continued following the woman's slow movement with a face like stone.

"She is their greatest treachery and their deepest shame. She is the reminder of the bitter reality behind their gold and their glory. They respect and revere her for what she has lived through. They hate her because she represents the millstone that hangs around all their necks."

The woman walked through the silence and the low words hung in the air around them.

"She was born Dorea Kore Black and she was so lovely that she put every daughter of that most beautiful of houses, past and present to shame. But she was young and the demands for her hand had not yet begun to besiege her father's door. For she was barely fourteen, a child. And every eye looked upon her gay laughter and her blithe love for life, with delight and wonder."

Moniqua watched as the woman bowed here and there, her gate never quickening, her lips never relaxing from their proud line.

"Alas she was too lovely, for her beauty attracted the attention of a man not used to being gainsaid. The son of the richest, most ancient line in the land, old enough to be her father,grandfather even. He coveted her, he yearned for her and swore that he would not rest until she was his and his alone."

"He presented himself to her family and begged for her hand. They refused reluctantly, pointing out the child's youth. He would have none of it, he took out the contract he had had drawn up and bade them look at the place the settlements were to be written. The price set there was three thousand galleons, a fortune even for the House of Black and Cygnus Phineas Black rubbed his hands greedily. But she was still young and his wife begged for him to refuse."

"Then the hopeful bridegroom added another nought to the contract and the price rose to thirty thousand galleons.

Moniqua blinked, even now such a sum was huge, twenty years ago it would have been worth even more.

"Three times they refused and three times he multiplied the price by ten until it lay at thirty million galleons; more than any other bride-price in our history. The House of Black could not resist such wealth and Dorea Kore Black was sold to a man for such a sum as to restore fully the Black Fortune to what it had once been."

"The wedding took place less than a month later and when the druid called upon the congregation if any objected to this union, Dorea Kore Black turned with her hands outstretched and begged for any among them to stop this madness." he paused, his gaze cold and terrible in his anger.

"No one spoke, her eyes turned dark and bitter, and nine months later, twenty-eight days after she turned fifteen, she brought into the world the son and heir her husband so desperately desired."

Moniqua thought she might vomit, her face was pale as snow as Henry finished his awful tale and drew silent. The woman was moving in their direction now, each slow, deliberate step pulling her closer,

"But Dreamer, I have never heard of that name." Moniqua whispered, and as she did, the woman revolved on the spot until her gaze scorched like molten metal and Moniqua cringed back before such a aura of hatred. Henry's voice was in her ear, she heard in only vaguely, still locked as she was in those two infernos of raging gold and green and brown and as she stared something in her gut made the awful link even as he pronounced the words

"Nor should you, Jake Dreamer was her second husband."

The woman began to make her way towards them, never taking her coldly furious eyes from Moniqua's face.

"The man she married was named...Charlus Jasper Potter."

* * *

Mistress Dorea Persephone Dreamer, neé Black stopped before the handsome pair and, with terrifying grace, raising her hand and held it out for Henry to take. He brought it dutifully to his lips, his face as cold and forbidding as hers. Then he raised his head and mother and son stared into each other's face for a long paralysing moment.

Moniqua held her breath, along with every other occupant of the ballroom, unable just as they were, to take her eyes off the pair. The air crackled between them, but whether with menace or simply tension she could not tell and then, suddenly the moment was broken, as the woman turned quick enough to make the room blink and locked her deadly gaze with Moniqua's black one.

"Moniqua Jasmina Monroe." she said, as expressionlessly as her son. Moniqua lowered into a respectful curtsey, her dark head bowed.

"Madame." she murmured, staring meekly at the shining hem of the Lady's dress.

Mistress Dreamer looked down at her for a long minute before finally gesturing for the girl to rise.

"Walk with me." it was a command not a request, and Moniqua bridled instinctively.

But a touch on her arm made her swallow the indignation and she drew herself up and inclined her head obediently.

Henry removed his hand and watched them walk through the silence, and as they moved, the crowd parted before them, with round eyes and pale, tense faces. The two woman disappeared and Henry grit his teeth, ignoring the shamelessly staring guests.

He had not expected her to come. It had been fifteen years since she'd shut herself away from the world of riches and glory she'd been born into, retiring from society to enjoy the love she'd finally earned after six years of loneliness.

Henry turned on his heel and made his way to the bar, and the firewhiskey slipped down his throat with a sigh of either relief or apprehension, the hazel gaze fixed on the stone archway though which the person he had inherited it from had just disappeared.

He waited some fifty-five seconds before following them.

* * *

Under the lights of the ballroom, Mistress Dreamer had been mesmerising to behold. Now in the shadows of the stone-walled gallery, with the candlelight playing with the rich gold of her hair and her gown, she was almost terrifying. Moniqua held that proud, fierce, falcon gaze with difficulty and the two woman stood like that for a long moment, locked in silent battle.

"I've heard a great deal about you, Mademoiselle Monroe."

Dorea Persephone Dreamer finally spoke, her voice soft yet hard, controlled and yet filled with deadly passion. Moniqua waited, her famous courage and her stubborn pride keeping her chin firmly lifted and her gaze defiant.

"You are a meeting of paradoxes. The spawn of a travelling musician and his dancing bride." Moniqua's face hardened at the insult. "The daughter of the long-lost heir to one of Spain's most illustrious lines and the princess he seduced and eloped with, hiding her in plain sight under a black veil.

Shock and fear stopped her throat as secrets known to no-one outside her family,spilled blandly out from those perfect lips.

"A Star, a celebrity, a hero beloved and adored throughout the world, for catching a ball on broomstick.

Anger returned, so that holding it back was almost agony but still she grit her white teeth, refusing to let this woman win.

"Dumbledore's spy; bait and hook both to every young pureblood with a ready tongue and a weak-willed mind. The Champion of Muggles and Mudbloods." those coal flashed now in fury at that hateful word.

"And now you have entrapped the most eligible bachelor of the age. The jewel in your admittedly impressive crown."

She paused before finishing impressively

"I salute you."

Mistress Dreamer's lips spread into a sardonic smile, her impossible handsome head tilted to the side mockingly. Moniqua glared coldly back, her breast heaving silently in rage. Dorea watched her silently, those full pink lips lilting upwards and finally she spoke again, the words she had obviously been working up to since the beginning of their conversation.

"My question is…how?

Moniqua's heart seemed to still in her chest.

"I know my son better than you will ever do so. I know the darkness in his heart for much of it comes from my own. I know that he mistrusts the emotion commonly known as love as he mistrusts anyone who proclaims to feel it for him."

"Society is blind when it does not whish to see, but I am a Black, Mademoiselle Monroe and we are not fooled by facades. We are born with beauty and we are bred into it, it is part of our very soul and therefore we see through it as though it is made of glass."

"You are a good actress and a better liar and my son trained himself to be both before he could walk. But flawless as your façade is, it is as clear to me as a newly-cleaned window pane. Therefore I ask you, how is it that he plays your game and dances to your tune. How is it he accepts you where he has accepted only one other before?"

The woman's face was cold and hard, the steel determination at odds on a face so lovely and so young. For young she was, Moniqua vaguely realised; she could be no more than thirty-five. The knowledge at once frightened and stunned her, so much so that the simmering fury dissipated all at once, and she stared at this woman who had lived through so much. It caused her to swallow the biting retort and to speak almost calmly.

"He accepts because it was he who instigated the arrangement." she said coldly, and had the satisfaction of seeing the older woman blink in surprise. She continued a little more bitterly.

"You are right of course, he would never consider marriage with one such as I unless he had no other choice. He has been manipulated into this situation and enlisted my aid. I accepted and here we are, trapped in a marriage that can only bring heartache to us both, to save the life of one dear to him."

Dorea frowned. Some of the icy contempt had left her face but confusion was there now, creasing that white, unlined brow. Her arms were rigid at her side, her chin tilted regally to the heavens but when Moniqua met her gaze frankly, she exhaled softly.

"Of whom do you speak, Mademoiselle? she demanded, "Who is in such danger; my son, Ethan? Or…"

She closed up on a thought that caused her brows to lower darkly. Moniqua blinked; she had not known that Henry had a younger brother.

"No Madame, at least, I think not. He spoke of a woman. I thought…" she fought down the blush furiously, "I assumed one he cared for."

She tailed off trying to hide the embarrassment but Dorea shook her magnificent head impatiently, causing those rich chestnut curls to bounce and gleam in the gallery's half-light. An idea occurred to Moniqua one, so obvious it laughed at herself for not having thought of it earlier,

"Then it must be yourself Madame.

Dora's sharp half-laugh echoed down the empty gallery eerily.

"Tyrannius would not dare." The way those hazel eyes flashed made Moniqua almost believe it. "He is too afraid that might take an active hand in his nephew's marital problems. Henry knows he need not defend me, child." Moniqua shrugged; she had no other idea save the one she had expressed earlier, the one she detested to even think of, but as she opened her mouth to repeat it once more Dorea shook her head and cut her off.

"There is no-one. she stated simply," but seeing Moniqua's sceptical expression she smiled a little ruefully.

"I am not a perfect mother but allow me this much. I wondered once, during his last three years of Hogwarts but…"

Her thoughts took a sudden change in direction, the frown returned sharply as Mistress Dreamer swung round to face the younger woman once more and stared at her with eyes narrowed and so knowing, it was looking into Henry's soul-searing gaze.

"You say he asked you for your aid." Moniqua froze but the woman once called Dorea Potter continued mercilessly on.

"Then tell me, Miss Moniqua Monroe, why did you agree?"

The silence was long, tense and seemed to tremble in time. Moniqua glanced away briefly and it was all the other needed. Dorea moved closer, her eyes gleaming in sudden comprehension and Moniqua squeezed her lids tight shut, trying to shut out the look of compassion that was now softening those beautiful features.

A white hand lifted, a sad sigh escaped from pale pink lips but before the words of truth could be uttered another voice cut through the shadows and caused both heads to turn in surprise.

"She agreed because she follows a moral code that does not permit her to stand by and allow another's life be lost if she can prevent it. For such courage and compassion I am deeply indetted to her."

Henry walked from the shadowed archway as smoothly and silently as a ghost until he stood at Moniqua's side. His arm looped deliberately through hers; she stared up at him in shock but his hard gaze never left his mother's eyes.

"And now I cannot but feel that you have harangued her as to her motifs for long enough, Madam. If you will permit us to return to the Ballroom."

It was a rhetorical question; Henry certainly did not wait for her answer, but Dorea made no move to stop the pair. Instead she stared at the younger girl's face, her own grave and torn between too many emotions to successfully interpret. Moniqua barely had time to bow her head before Henry marched her away.

* * *

The lights from the ballroom were painful to her eyes after the minutes spent in the gloomy gallery but looking up at her partner, Moniqua couldn't see that he shared her discomfort. Faces and greeting welcomed them with enthusiasm and within a very short minute the throng had swallowed up their golden couple eagerly. For how long they chatted and mingled and laughed and charmed Moniqua could not say. Time passed in a whirl of glittering jewels and silk robes, until her smile ached and even Henry's infinite patience was wearing thin.

It ran out when Abraxus Nero Malfoy kissed Moniqua's hand with such an appreciative smirk that a faint flush rose in her cheeks. Henry's recognised that dangerous, militant sparkle and thought it prudent to remove his date from temptation, despite an inward satisfaction at her obvious distaste. He had no liking for the Minister's nephew and even less respect. Had Moniqua succumbed to the smooth, silken charm she would have lost any he felt for her.

His hand slipped around that trim waist in a gesture that, Henry vaguely realised, to the outside world could be deemed as possessive. The thought made him roll his eyes but despite the urge to do so, he did not release her. Instead his grip rather tightened, strange as it was, but his focus was all on detaching them from their circle of admirers and so he pushed the mystery to one side for later resolution.

He turned to Mister Malfoy and, for the first time that evening, Henry Potter smiled.

Malfoy turned even white even under his usual pallor and the gentleman surrounding them immediately ceased their attempts to make the couple stay.

A very short time later, Moniqua was gurgling with irresistible laughter as they twirled effortlessly around the floor and Henry felt his lips twitch in response.

"Their faces, _mon dieux_!" she giggled for his ears only, "You terrified them!"

A lurking gleam of amusement danced in those fathomless hazel eyes, and without thinking, Henry bent his handsome head closer to hers and whispered back

"Proof, I think, that I should NOT smile more often."

It made her look up in shock, her lovely face breaking into fresh laughter and something caught in Henry's throat and chest, something he could not for the life of him decipher. But suddenly she was pressing herself closer into his arms, inviting him to prolong their rare moment of intimacy, and without quite knowing why, for once he did not pull away.

"That was not your smile, _imbecile_; that was your "I try my very hardest not to curse you into oblivion so do not infuriate me further look.""

She felt the tremor in his chest and raised her eyes to grin up at him mischievously.

"I am best placed to recognise it, after all."

Monroe gleamed wickedly teasing and he stared down at her, reluctant amusement not quite hidden beneath his mask. She saw it immediately of course and glowed all the brighter in triumph, before startling him out of his wits by laying her head against his chest and holding it there.

Henry went rigid. Then his body relaxed, he hesitated before, to both their astonishments, pressing her tentatively closer still.

Nestled in the fold of his cravat, Moniqua smiled and closed her eyes.

* * *

The next day, The Daily Prophet newspaper presented gleefully the headline that the Wizarding World had been waiting for.

**Golden Couple announces official Courtship!**

**Daily Prophet Jessie Jorkins is thrilled to announce that last night, at the Prewett's Summer Ball, billionaire Henry Charlus Potter and multi-national Quidditch Star Moniqua Monroe finally said the words we have all be dying to hear! After a romantic evening spent almost entirely in each other's arm, our favourite couple made their announcement with euphoric smiles to tumultuous applause. Are wedding bells in the air? We hope so! And with the groom Mother, the famous Dorea Persephone Dreamer, née Black in attendance, this reporter certainly is betting her galleons on a Potter Wedding! **

Henry Potter forbore to peruse the article further. He folded it neatly in half and placed it pensively on the desk before him, so that the huge almost A4 photo of himself and the lady he was now officially courting was out of sight and out of mind.

Thirty-three seconds later exactly, he flipped the folded-half back open without looking up.

The two figures danced across the page.

* * *

**Woaaaah. Even First Steps is getting longer and longer sigh =( Anyway, I hope you liked this one as I'll admit I did ;) The best part about writing Frist Steps is tying it into both AOA and Tears of Gold and this Chapter is the perfect example. Someone once asked me if Moniqua had known Madame de Belle-isle, Druellla Black (then Rosier), and Evangeline Malfoy (then Rosier too) and this is a very late reply lol. I always imagined them knowing each other slightly mainly because I thought Moniqua Monroe, famous Quidditch star, spoilt, quick-tempered would REALLY get on a very vain Veela's nerves. ;) and so she did, though not in a bad way. **

**I also liked this one because we learn a HUGE amount about Henry's past, the past that is SO important for not only First Steps but also All Over Again. We're getting really close now to the MOMENT that changed everything. The secret that links everything together, Henry, Moriarty, Charlus, Dorea, and of course later Moniqua and finally James… Heee heeeee! XD XD XD **

**We've gone back more into Henry's mindset too which is another reason I like this chapter. We all know Moniqua's feelings, she very frank and direct and doesn't allow herself to pretend they're not real. Henry however, only in his head do we see how deep he's getting, even without realising it. The feelings he doesn't understand, the desires he thinks of as foolishness. ;) Hopefully we can see in this chapter that, like it or not, he's becoming more and more crazy about her with every day that passes. ^^ Poor thing. **

**As for Moniqua's dresses well each one is taken from a specific photo and if I get the time, I'll try to put them up on my blog, because they really MAKE the scene lol ^^ And as for the choker you can see it yourselves in the Tourist around Angelina's Jolie's neck ^^ It simply IS the scene lol **

**Oh and before I forget, these are just some Mini-Playlists for my other stories, very short but very inspirational ;) If anyone's interested. **

**MJ/Henry**

Only he, Marti Webb, **my Moniqua/Henry song, she's perfect, cocky, complete and independent but he's…well the song says it all lol ^^**

High Flying Adored, Paul Nicolas**, MJ, in general, one of my favourite thought-provoking songs, about fame at a very young age, one of biggest inspirations for Moniqua's character**

When You're Gone, Avril Lavigne **Wahhhhh X( sad sad sad, after they've left school, Henry's in auror training and MJ realises she really really loves him… And then later, it will be Henry singing it… =(**

I hope you Dance, Lee Anne Womack, **INCREDIBLY important song, but I'll only give you one hint, it'll be at the Christmas Ball ;)**

Your song, Ronen Keating, **and the sad song…sigh, because you know it's got to come =(**

**Narcissa/Lucius**

It's All About Soul (remix), Billy Joel **My Narcissa/Lucius song, I just heard it and BAM that was it, they were there, in my head lol ^^ though I think it works for any of the pairings, because they're all in a war, all fighting and all doing things that will scar them, but I think it works best for Lucius; he's the baddie and he's not sure why she stay but he can't live without her…. One of my favourite songs of all time, especially the "And so far she hasn't run, though I swear she's had her moments. She still believes in miracles while other's cry in vain. Magic**

Bat Out of Hell, Meatloaf **The Best rock song of all time for me, but I can never decide whether I like it best as Lucius, coming back after his evil deeds to his love, or simply Sirius because this song is all about the motorbike and when I hear Meatloaf's voice it sounds like Sirius laughing madly with his hair torn back in the wind.**

Fool, Shakira **when Narcissa first begins to realise she's physically attracted to him, despite the way he's sometimes nice, sometimes pure evil, and the line "You might swear, you'd never touch a lady well let me say, you're not too far from maybe… It was the inspiration for the big plot line in the fic, Where Lucius is bound by certain limits with his treatment of her, but sometimes she wonders whether he'll abide by them or not. Remember Lucius isn't nice in the beginning of this fic, and he would be crueller still if not for a certain circumstance.**

Only when I sleep, The Corrs** Similar in the sense by day she hates him, loathes him, but by night, when she's lying in the same bed (to be explained later) he's there in her mind and she can't get rid of him.**

Wind Beneath My Wings, Bette Midler **This is how I imagine Lucius' death scene, "It must have been cold there in my shadow, "A beautiful face without a name, for so long. A beautiful smile to hide the pain. Because she's his world and he wouldn't have survived without her love and her loyalty, and he's not ashamed to admit it now he's older and wiser and more broken. Tears of Gold is the part of their life he will always deep down regret and hate himself for, just as he hates the darkness in him that made it possible. But she's the one who brings him a little closer to the light, he learns to control his darkness for her, at least partly and it's this transformation that Tears of Gold will focus on. As I said it will be a dark fan fiction, even for me. But "A light from the shadows shall spring. **

**Et voila, bear with me for AOA, I promise I am nearly done ok =) And well, it SHOULD be worth the wait ;)**

**Luv you all so so so so so much! **

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x x x x **


	10. Chapter 10

**Heya people! I'm sure most of you are already aware of the technical problems has been having but just in case; I as well as many other authors have been unable to acces the Edit pages on any of our stories. Meaning basically no updates. However apparently one fabulous, wonderful, genius person has managed to get round this incredibly irritating error page. I don't know who so can't thank them, I can however thank .Adorable for letting me know about it! =) I owe you BIG! THANK YOU! This Chapter is now dedicated jointly to yourself and mockingjay as an early birthday present (you said your birthday was th 28****th**** right?) I hope it's a good one lol ^^**

**Anyway, hopefully things will be getting back on track so look out for more updates very very soon ;)**

**Right back to the orginal AN lol: it starts...**

**HERE!**

**Well here it is, another "Partitioned" Chapter lol, because they seem to be getting longer and longer for some inexplicable reason, probably due to my own stress at the moment. This is part one of the planned Chapter, but as you can see, it's already well over 9000 words. **

_I KNOW HUGE AN BUT WAIT! Read this bit please! Just this little bit here =)_

_-__ I know most of you want to get on with it and read, but if you could do me a favour and pop back here at the end well , I guess I'd like to explain this chapter a little, for a number of reasons. I'm guessing you'll probably have a lot of thoughts and queries after this one anyway because there's a HUGE amount going on in it. _

**Ok, you back? Hope you liked lol ^^ **

**First of all this "Half-Chapter" is, as you'll see, a very heavy one, especially for First Steps. There are two reasons for this. Number one is because it's a very Henry-orientated Chapter, and being the genius that he is, Henry's thoughts and memories are of course exceedingly complex as his own analysis of them. **

**This is because this "moment" in their history is the period of time when Henry is beginning to realise that something is changing between them. But being Henry he has no idea what this change is. In the past few chapters, many reviewers have asked me WHEN will he FINALLY get it. Well, the answer is that it's an immensely long process, the first stage of which is this chapter. Here we see that he is recognising the changes that hitherto he hadn't even realised were happening, but also and very importantly, he is increasingly perturbed by them. To sum it up, Henry is basically in denial, and like most guys in denial, is falling into the trap of trying to push away the person he'll falling for. And that is where Henry is at the beginning of this Chapter. Which is why, during this chapter he is probably at his most unfeeling towards Moniqua, cold and sometimes deliberately nasty. Which is the main reason I'm doing this little intro, so that nobody comes back at me saying, "What have you done? He's turned into a git!" Because he doesn't know what's happening and the « Not-knowing" has never happened to him before. So of course, he hates it and responds in kind. Damn isn't it sad that I find my own characters cute… Pffff oh dear. **

**So that's one reason this part is quite heavy, the other is because the other half as it were, is a lot lot LESS serious. I'll be introducing a character I very much like and who, although you haven't met him before in person, will hopefully remind you of someone, who I also very much like ;) It should have been funny and light enough to balance the deep, well heaviness of this first half. I'll give you one clue that will hopefully make sense once you read this ^^ Moniqua DOES go, permission or otherwise. Oh and we'll see the Quidditch Match ;) And who'll be there ^^**

**But anyway, hopefully you'll like this one; we go back into a memory that I know many people were interested in, and we also learn some HUGE hints about Henry's secrets. The reason for this? Because I am FINALLY getting to the place in AOA when those same secrets come out! YOUPI! XD XD XD Hopefully, The Lump part 3 will be finished and will end on a cliff-hanger and THEN Chapter 30 will be a BIG well maybe or maybe not a surprise, because some of you really are too smart for my story's good ^^ but definitely a "Coming Out" lol ^^ And THAT means that after that Chapter is posted, I can move on to the next all-important part of First Steps without spoiling. =)=)=) It's all coming together! Eeeeeehhh! ^^ and we'll find out LOADS!**

**Anyway, I must stop squealing before I wake my neighbours and you must all either read, if you haven't already, and if you have REVIEW! (Please ^^)**

**Luv y'al!**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x x x x**

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First Steps: Chapter 7

"Please!"

"No."

"Potter!"

"The answer is no."

The hard thump of a white stiletto heel striking the floor with force sounded loudly, causing the magnificent eagle owl on the stylish cast-iron perch to open one golden eye and blink rather blearily across the room at the source of the commotion. The culprit swung around and resumed her tempestuous pacing back and forth, the gorgeous muslin dress billowing around her like a flurry of snow. Higher up, the white gauze clung softly to a figure that was at once athletically toned and seductively curved, setting of the glory of golden brown skin that gleamed in the evening half-light.

A picture of perfection somewhat ruined by the expression of utmost fury contorting her pretty face.

"'EN-RI…CHARLUS…POTTER When will you get it t'rough zat…T'ICK skull of yours zat we are courting!"

The object of this blistering tirade stood as still and elegantly poised as he had ten minutes ago. Dressed up to the nines in robes of his trademark black adorned with buttons of pure silver, he was as cool and detached as she was flustered. As always those distinctive chestnut locks were smoothed back into perfect order, his cheekbones could have been chiselled from marble and even as they rolled infuriatingly backwards, his eyes were a glorious cocktail of gold and green and purest scotch whiskey.

"A fact that has plastered across every newspaper since the day it was announced; believe me I had not forgotten." a light, faintly bored drawl.

His intended stamped her foot once more and threw out her hands with a stifled scream of frustration.

"Zen WHY _mon DIEU_, will you not act like it?"

Henry Potter had lowered his gaze to his watch; he eyed it impassively for a moment before lifting his handsome head and looking at her straight in the eye.

"Monroe, If you think I have any intention of sitting through two hours of observing men and woman hurl balls at each others heads fifty meters from the ground, you are quite frankly deluded and I suggest, should see a Healer."

Moniqua stared at him, opening and clenching her fists so fast she could have been imagining clasping them around his throat. Her huge black eyes flashed like polished jet, her lips were parted as she gaped up at him, torn between indignation and disbelief.

"_Merde Potter_, it is ONE MATCH! Not just any match! The League FINAL! _Tu comprend ca?"_

"Perfectly. Nevertheless my answer is still no."

"ARGH!"

Moniqua threw up her hands and stormed out of the salon and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her with such a bang that the walls shook. Henry rolled his eyes and spoke loudly but with more than a hint of weariness.

"Our table is waiting, Monroe."

The door flew open and Moniqua herself charged back into the room like a howling sandstorm. Her eyes flashed, her fists trembled and she seemed to burn with rage as she stared up at the gentleman regarding her with complete indifference.

"You are _incroyable! _You dare say you act like you court me? You will not even come to ze most important match I play zis year!"

"I was unaware that my presence was crucial to your success." he drawled lightly.

"ARGHHHHH!"

Truth be told the comment was deliberately flippant and spoken with the sole intention of enraging the Quidditch Star further. He wasn't sure when it had become such a reflex; to provoke her into fury with such trivialities. Henry couldn't explain it; all he knew was that something about the way her face blazed and her eyes flashed, it amused him as nothing else could. That was the reason he consciously accepted. But deep down in the back of his mind another voice whispered that fighting with Monroe was somehow less stressful than not fighting with her. Less…perturbing than the strange complicity growing between them between the battles.

The larger, coldly practical part of his remarkable intellect pointed out that it could be considered no bad thing to attain a certain level of understanding with the woman he would spend at least the next few years of his life with. Not that he thought she would leave after that; Monroe would rather die than abandon her child, no matter if it meant spending the rest of her days with someone she…well, perhaps no longer despised but certainly could not love.

His fingers clenched and he was conscious of the familiar feeling of irritation. Not anger; such an emotion was far beneath him, beneath his status as a pureblood. It was a recurring sentiment, one that had been creeping up on him for the last month since the night of the Prewett Ball. And analyse it as he might, the nagging frustration refused to be placed.

He had concluded that something about the situation bothered him, that he was not completely satisfied with the progression of their plan but for the life of him, he could not think why. The Ministry were crowing at their success. The days were creeping forwards towards that all important one-year anniversary. The public were delighted and cooing as ever over their golden couple and both he and Monroe were taking pains to keep them enraptured.

Tonight was one such example.

* * *

Barely a second had passed, a second during which the gentlemen's incredible mind had processed all these thoughts and several other, less amicable ones, when a sudden choke turned Henry's head.

Monroe's laughter was always low and musical, even pleasing to the ear, something he acknowledged rather reluctantly, but although tonight was no exception, the sound of throaty mirth held another emotion. A strange bitterness that cut it short, a sadness that lingered long after the rich peels had finished.

Henry felt his brow crease, both confused and annoyed by said confusion. He had little experience of it and thus it irritated him all the more.

He allowed his almost-frown to fix on her face, pointedly waiting for her to explain the odd behaviour. She caught the look and, for a moment seemed as though she would speak, her crimson stained lips parting in frustration. But then they closed, she sighed and shook her handsome head, ebony curls that she had spent almost two hours producing, glinting softly in the light.

It was so unlike Monroe to abandon a fight, and the expression of surrender in her eyes was so unprecedented that he found it oddly disconcerting. Moniqua Monroe never gave up; never admitted defeat. It was a characteristic that had always both intrigued and infuriated him.

He was businessman; he always had been. Shrewd and calculating and most of all, well aware that sometimes one must cut ones losses in order to prevent total failure. There would always be some battles one could not win, some mountains impossible to climb. It was a fact of life, as evident and incontestable as the rising of the sun. So he had always known and accepted.

And then she'd appeared. Strutting into his life with that challenge in her eyes and a confidence to match and even surpass his own.

For a moment, Henry allowed the memories to flow back, with a clarity and precision that surpassed any normal teenager capacity.

That first meeting in Dumbledore's study, the immediate clash of personalities without even exchanging words. They'd both felt it, both sensed the change, the tension in the atmosphere, the ripple of previously still waters. An instinctive, absolute certainty that something was changing in their perfect, idyllic and altogether unchallenging lives. It was novel to them both; the apparition of an enemy worthy of each other's steel, although at that moment, both would have rather died than admit it.

A flicker of warmth softened Henry's eyes, remembering how his younger self had refused to have anything to do with the spoilt, child-star princess. He had ruthlessly condemned her for her arrogance, her self-satisfaction and intense dislike of being beaten at her own game, without even realising that every fault was one he shared. He had detested the way every student and teacher alike had fallen under her spell within days of her arriving. He had abhorred the small secret smile in her eyes, slipping slyly to his every time another sheep-like male had joined the ever-growing throng of her worshippers. Those deep black pools had revelled in his dislike, danced with glee at his frustration. She had lived for taunting him, relished provoking him and missed no opportunity to try her utmost to outdo him.

He had watched her efforts. First with the disinterest born of habit; everyone made the attempt at some point; and then confused as, rather than giving up after the first hundred tries, she hadn't accepted the inevitable. No matter how people pointed out that it was impossible to achieve higher marks than the Potter prodigy, no matter how teachers had shaken their heads apologetically, she had refused to throw in her wand. She had dauntlessly declared herself as his equal and as the months had passed, he had gradually found himself accepting her as such.

Since birth he had been singled out, placed in a class all of his own, so far above everyone else that they regarded him simply as a higher being. What use was there in attempting to defeat a god? In chasing the wind? In pushing a mountain? So it had always been, with only one person ever treating him differently. One human that is.

Briefly, he thought of his old friend, affection curving the corners of his mouth, wondering what he would think of Monroe. Would he dislike like her or grudgingly give her the respect she demanded. As he had.

Because he had. Not much perhaps but enough to separate her from the hoards. Sometime in sixth year they had both begun to recognise this mutual respect, and the constant battles between them had taken a different tone.

Not that they hadn't still fought. Far from it. She had still raged and pounded upon his mask of ice and he had still refused to let her break through. She'd sworn, he'd blinked, she'd stamped, he'd rolled his eyes, she'd smashed artefact after priceless artefact and he'd curled his lip, she'd cursed and declared that she hated no one more and he would finally cut back, pushed to his limits, and slice her into pieces with one well-chosen word.

It had been a mantra, a routine, one he loathed and abhorred like nothing else but also perhaps one of the few things in his life that made it seem real. Made him seem real. Because she wasn't just the bane of his life, she was simply Monroe. The one person in Hogwarts he considered an acquaintance. Someone he acknowledged, however much he had fought not to. She had forced her way into his notice and jammed her foot when he tried to slam the door shut. Never more so than after that night.

Past rage re-ignited in Henry Potter's eyes; the memory even now one of the few triggers to that rare emotion. Her body convulsing on the floor, unconscious and parallelized completely with a spell so strong it even forbade her from breathing. His untimely arrival had surprised the louts, they'd ran even as he'd turned the corner and one glance had been enough to tell him that she had to be his first priority.

* * *

_Flashback_

_Her face was already turning blue, the bruises forming around her lips even as he watched, parted in a silent scream for oxygen that her throat and lungs refused to gasp for. He'd done the first thing he could think of, pressing his mouth to hers and emptying his chest of all the air it held, repeating the action again once, twice and then a third time as his hand drew out his wand and his mind searching for the counter spell. _

_The fourth time he pulled back he spat the words faster than he'd ever pronounced a spell in his life, staring with a glare of iron as her curvaceous frame tensed and then relaxed. But her eyes didn't open; for the first time in his life, fear clouded his mind and without thinking he drew another deep breath and pressed his lips once more to hers. And just as he did, he felt her stir. _

_Her lungs gasped at the oxygen and pulled it down eagerly, the suction sealing their lips tightly together. Her mouth was warm, soft and inviting, more so than any other of the desperate fools he'd agreed to kiss from curiosity or boredom. Her upper body was still clasped tightly in his arms from when he'd pulled her upright to force the air down her throat. And as her lips groggily moved, he realised that it was his own that had instigated the motion. Forceful and even bruising, his mind screamed that it was only the pent-up tension and relief that made him do so but nonetheless he was unable to stop. And as she gradually came to, Monroe responded more and more fiercely, until his tongue slipped out of his own accord and forced its way into her mouth with a hunger that would not be gainsaid. _

_For the first time in his life, he couldn't explain why or how or where this strange compunction came from. All his suddenly empty mind could register was that kissing Monroe was nothing like kissing any other adoring girl who simply idolised him. It was hot, heated and the mutual dislike and friction between only fanned the flames. _

_The moment sanity returned was like a douse of cold water. His head was yanked back, his face hardening into a mask so complete, so rigid and unbreakable he could almost feel his skin freeze into ice. Monroe stared up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes fuddled with the lingering pain, as well as the shock and trauma of what she'd been through._

_Without a word Henry rose to his feet and helped her do the same, taking care to touch a little of her skin as possible. Merlin knew he didn't want her to get the wrong idea. Monroe's ego needed no further inflating. What had happened had only been their bodys' natural instinct to the adrenalin; a culmpulsion triggered by the mixture of fear and relief. A chemical reaction provoked by hormones that not even the most powerful intellect could gainsay. _

_And Monroe had better not try to convince either herself or him otherwise._

_End Flashback_

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* * *

_

The anger had followed swiftly after, so furious, so consuming that the puzzle of both their brief inexplicable behaviour had been swallowed up in the incendio of rage. By the time they had reached Gryffindor Tower, his entire body had been pulsing with the single coherent thought; punishment. Henry felt the simple memory of that rage cause an echoing tremor throughout his muscles. His eyes turned black, just as they had then; he'd retained only enough sanity to demand the names of the culprits and watch her ascend the stairs.

Then he'd gone, slipping under the cloak and into the blackness of wrath and dungeons. Following the snakes to their lair. Sneaking through twisted passages, vanishing into shadows, crawling through secret ways that had long disappeared from living memory; he'd emerged like a ghost before the group moments before turning the last corner to the sanctuary of their common room.

And for the first time in over nine years white light had flashed with the chaos of Tartarus unleashed.

* * *

"We should go."

Henry turned, a little too fast but her voice had been closer than he'd expected. He took a deep breath inwardly berating his strange inattention and met that black gaze squarely, surprised to find it oddly expressionless.

She was barely a foot away, her posture just a little slumped but the difference was minute; only eagle eyes could have picked up on it. Or someone who knew her all too well. Henry pushed that treacherous thought to the back of his mind and focused only her face.

"We should." he agreed, watching her lips curve upwards, wondering why he was one hundred percent certain that the movement was forced. A light frown creased his brow over yet another mystery to ponder as he flicked his wand and her favourite mink coat flew across the room to his hand. She turned around, allowing him to lift the gorgeously soft material over her shoulders and as her bare arms slipped into the sleeves she breathed in the unmistakable scent with a sigh of pleasure.

"My mother's," she said, almost to herself, "One of the few things she took with her when they…"

Monroe broke off, her face a picture of guilt as she twisted the fur out of his light grip and Henry felt a twinge of curiosity. Every thing about her screamed for him not to ask, but tonight Henry found himself obeying an inner demon. He ignored her wide-eyed appeal and prompted softly

"When they…?"

Moniqua swallowed, staring up into his face, hesitation written all over her own. He didn't look away and after a few moments of heavy silence she looked quickly away with an airy laugh.

"When they went on their honey-moon." the picture perfect smile was painted onto her lips once more. It didn't fool him for an instant and inexplicably, he felt his own features hardening. The smooth line of his jaw clenched, the flicker or warmth in his eyes vanished; he'd drawn completely away from her and Moniqua saw it and inwardly cursed her own stupidity.

"I took the liberty of leaking the information to press as we discussed. That being so, I would expect there to be at least ten reporters and probably three or four hidden cameras clever enough to slip through even Lagina's security. You would do well to remember it. Now; if you are ready…" cold and expressionless as his face. Moniqua lowered her eyes and nodded.

With a flick of the wand, a swirl of fur, the pair were gone.

* * *

It went without saying that the restaurant Henry had picked out for the evening would be the most chic, expensive and exclusive place to dine in the whole of London.

_Lagina _was the name people called it, if another had once existed it had been lost long ago. And if Hotel Avalon was the heart of Magical society, the secret sanctuary in the very depths of Eturn Alley, was its unquestioned soul. Even in this time when the old gods were all but forgotten, the magic of its namesake's mistress seemed to linger in the stones of those hallowed halls. Tables were booked up months in advance; only seven exceptions there were; seven tables that every night remained empty unless their owners cared to claim them.

The currant Maitre of the establishment was one Charon Acheron Gamp, a tall, thin individual as pale and all-knowing as the ferryman of the dead himself. Every face he could recognise with most fleeting of glances; there was no better judge of character or status in the Wizarding World.

He had served as the Maitre d'Hôtel at Lagina for over thirty years and showed no sign of stopping despite the thousands of offers from the Ministry to private corporations. Bribes too slipped under his door as often as the clock chimes but Gamp never revealed the secrets he had learned from serving the private tables that were soundproofed from the rest of the establishment. They were his personnel charge, and he guarded them as jealously as one might his own family.

As such his gaunt, ivory face lit up in a small smile of welcome as Mister Henry Charlus Potter aparated into the vaulted entrance hall, despite the considerable lateness of the hour.

"Mister Potter," he bowed, tall frame creaking like rusty joints, "It is a pleasure to see you here."

Henry held out his hand and grasped the wrinkled fingers held out to him with surprising friendliness.

"It has been too long Charon. No doubt you are already well aware, but I have been in auror training these past two years."

The skeletal man bowed, his bland smile silently affirming. Gamp clapped his pale hands and immediately three elves appeared, draped in fine cream tea-towels. As they hurried forward to divest the guests of their coats with toothy smiles, he watched calmly and said

"Your friend he goes well? Master…."

"Very."

Moniqua frowned slightly as she handed the expanse of silver mink to the waiting elf, picking up on the deliberate interruption before this "friend" could be named. Henry didn't look at her, he continued with that unusual warmth in his voice, saved only for long-time acquaintances.

"Perhaps this year he will be able to join me once more, like old times."

Mister Gamp nodded in that odd , slow way that gave no indication of his thoughts.

"A well-mannered young man. But I am sure he could not but approve of his replacement."

Henry almost smiled and led Moniqua forward.

"Monr…Moniqua; this is Charon Acheron Gamp. Charon; I doubt introductions are necessary."

The Maitre returned Moniqua's frank, curious smile with his own knowing one.

"Mademoiselle Monroe; may I wish you the best of luck for the up-coming League Final."

Moniqua's face lit up in pleasure and renewed determination; Henry inwardly rolled his eyes.

"Monsieur Gamp," she declared unleashing her most disarming smile on the elderly gentleman, "You are very kind!"

She shot her companion a triumphant look.

"Are you a fan of Quidditch, Monsieur,…"

"Our table Charon." Henry interrupted firmly, his gaze losing some of that original warmth. Charon watched that handsome face tense and become withdrawn, and inwardly he sighed. Outwardly however, the Maitre d'Hôtel simply bowed and indicated the stone archway to their left with a pale, wrinkled hand.

Henry took Moniqua's arm and followed in the Maitre's wake, entering the massive space and gliding down the familiar path through the beautifully dressed tables without a glance ether to right of left. Neither the occupants, nor the smartly dressed waiters however could keep their startled gazes from fixing on the pair, either furtively from behind their silk menus, or openly, mouths falling open in eager curiosity. Vaguely he wondered which of them were the intruders from the press and how much of their paper's monthly budget would be blown in this one single scoop.

Moniqua lifted her chin and fixed a polite smile on her lips, despite the lingering urge to slap her companion for his cavalier treatment of the world in general.

Still the beauty of the softly lit hall could not but enrapture her. It was a vast rectangular room, with perhaps eighty tables set around a huge open space of at least a hundred square meters. An orchestra played at the far end of this, accompanying the twenty or so couples enjoying a romantic waltz in between courses. A number of strange hollows were carved out of the walls; Moniqua glanced curiously at the closest one as they passed. A single table was set there, far more rich and ornate than any of the ones occupied in the main salle; which was in itself odd, she suddenly realised; every other table was full; why then would this one be empty? A crest was carved into the stone archway above it, but before Moniqua could decipher it, they were already moving on.

Every table held a well-known face; only the richest witches and wizards could afford an evening here, but when Moniqua lifted her head, the entire room seemed to disappear.

With eyes sparkling like stars, she gazed upwards at that which separated Lagina from every other place on earth. Heavy and slow se breathed, lips parted in silent awe at the famous archways of magically carved stone, decorated with intricate and awe-inspiring designs. Old, even ancient symbols, twisting wreaths, they seemed to move, to dance, to come alive and yet rest in eternal sleep. Magic had not made these designs; rather they were Magic; Magic its oldest, purest form. So that any witch or wizard with the honour gazing upon would feel something being touched within, a flicker of fear, a glimmer of ecstasy, a spark of memory though consciously they had none. Long it had been here, protected and reverred for centuries past when Lagina the restaurant did not exist, and the Maitres were indeed that, Master's of Magic, druids of the Nameless Goddess herself, She Who Must Not Be Named, Mistress of Withcraft and Wizardry since both were brought into life. It was named for her most famous temple, and the blood of the old Masters still ran strong in the Gamp line. Tied forever to the fate of the Ceiling of Dreams, the Skyfield of Sorcery.

The Quintessence of Magic.

Moniqua tore herself away, and effort in took felt like a blow, winding her and leaving a bittersweet aftertaste of pleasure and pain.

Beside her, Henry felt the swirling complexity of her emotions with mixed feelings. He remembered the same strange awe that had both thrilled and frightened him all those years ago, as he recalled with perfect clarity the avid look of wild, painful longing on his father's face as he stared up into the hallowed, swirling archways. To a normal boy of five, the expression would have been too adult to comprehend; Henry still remembered the chill that had ran down his spine, almost in warning even then.

But all that was long ago and far away. The man's greed for power beyond that already gifted to him, it was long buried under cold stone and earth. Killed by the very magic he had yearned for so desperately, magic he could never harness himself and thus hated and desired all the more because of it.

Henry's pale lids pressed shut so briefly no human eye could have caught it. His fingers slipped into the folds of his robes to grip it, clasping the smoothly polished wood of their own accord and feeling the familiar tremor rush up his arm. The same arm tensed at his side, pulled tightly against the muscle of his thigh, needing that cool relief of metal on his skin.

The tension was so quick it lasted barely a moment; the very next second they had crossed the entire hall to the single enclave that was set into the stone at its very head. And when he drew Monroe inside and handed her into her seat, his face as bland and relaxed as ever.

She smiled up at him; praise Merlin no one in the restaurant were close enough to notice how forced the movement really was and instinctively, Henry felt his eyes roll backwards. She was still annoyed with his lack of interest in her, as she stubbornly called it, profession.

Henry almost snorted. Quidditch was perhaps man's only creation that held no interest for him whatsoever. Brutal, dangerous and altogether pointless. It was a sport for thugs; entertainment for the poor, intellectually challenged idiots who sadly lacked the sufficient brain-cells to occupy themselves more constructively.

Such was his opinion on Quidditch and in just over five years, despite her best efforts, Monroe had never succeeded in changing it.

As though in answer to his thoughts, she sniffed petulantly before casting her flickering gaze around the secluded enclave, looking to curiosity to distract her from her frustration. She seemed to succeed fairly well; Henry did not find it surprising. The Potter table was the richest of all of the Seven, or rather the original seven at least. Since the recent apparent extinction of the Gaunt line, the Malfoys had attempted by any means necessary to officially replace that most ancient of Houses. Lagina had eventually accepted to grant the Malfoy's their own secluded table, but to Tyrannius' disgruntlement, had politely refused to remove the Gaunt table from its own enclave.

The Tables were set into the walls, the concave semi-circles she had noticed as they had entered, with dome roofs, three down each side of the vast hall, Moniqua counted. The last Table was their own, set at the very head, the furthest wall. Each enclave was dressed with the Houses coat of arms, their traditional colours and decked in either gold or silver depending on preference. Rich tapestries as old as the hall itself hung either side of the seven entrances, waiting to be pulled closed in more complete privacy was desired. And yet not so old, Moniqua realised with a frown; the fabric that was so clearly ancient in places was less so in others; new designs had been added into it she realised, regularly it seemed. New images, new colours, new crests; it came to her in a flash.

Henry nodded, as though he'd read her mind.

"With each new family that joins with ours, a new piece is added." His hand waved languidly over one corner, "The House of Black for instance, was added the last generation."

Moniqua watched his face closely but nothing could be read there. She sighed, swallowed and turned her attention once more back to the drape.

"And this one?" she asked, pointing just to the right of the very centre. Henry turned his head, opened his lips and then closed them again, staring expressionlessly at the silver weaving there.

It was one of the largest added crests, a splash of flowers and ivy and thorns, crawling round the House symbol. It was a Triangle, from what Moniqua could make out, split down the very middle with a single straight line that also cut through the perfect circle that was set in the centre. Its place at the right hand of the huge emblazoned Potter insignia seemed to speak of its importance, as though this union was one the Potter line was particularly proud of. The embroidery was old though, so it came as little surprise when Henry replied coolly,

"That knowledge is long lost save only to the Lagina and her Maitre."

He said no more and his tone did not invite further questions. Moniqua took the subtle hint and dropped her gaze to her folded hands, fiddling with the white muslin as she searched for another less tense topic of conversation. He found it for her.

"Will your family be present?"

Moniqua blinked, lifting her head to frown in bewilderment. Henry fought the urge to roll his eyes and expanded.

"At the so-called most important match of the season."

The irony was heavy and it brought a flash to her eyes; she replied almost as coldly as he

"No."

She might have said it with a smile for all the notice he seemed to take of her angry tone. He raised one elegant brow, leaning back languidly in his seat, his keen gaze never leaving her face.

"Why?"

In her lap, her fingers curled into little claws; Moniqua eyed the effect darkly, fighting back the waves of long-repressed pain his words had brought back to the surface.

"They….my father does not….approve of women playing Quidditch." she finally said. She tried her hardest to laugh it off, but only succeeded in letting her indignation slip through.

She shot her companion a quick, defensive glance but his face was as unreadable as ever; neither sympathetic nor derisive; she could not be a little glad at the absence of both. Moniqua swallowed and finished in a small, hard voice.

"He waited so many years for a daughter after all, only to be saddled with an "unladylike, indecorous hoyden." One must feel for his disappointment."

She gave a little laugh, but the bitterness rang loud and clear even in her own ears and she sighed. An inward rebuke; she set her shoulders and, with an effort, finally pulled herself together.

Moniqua fixed the smile back onto her face just as Charon appeared like a shadow at the entrance of the enclave. His very long, very pale fingers balanced a silver tray on one hand, and with the other deftly set the two sparkling flutes of champagne before each of his guests. Then he snapped them, and at once two gold-edged menus appeared from no where. Both Henry and Moniqua took them from his outstretched hands; he with an unusually friendly nod, she with a warm smile of thanks.

Charon Gamp bowed slightly and vanished as quickly and as silently as he had come.

Grateful for the distraction Moniqua buried her face in the menu, fingertips rubbing unconsciously over the smooth, pleasant feeling of the leather covers. The parchment was old; it had that familiar library smell and she could sense the magic holding it together. The food was exotic and varied, delicacies from every corner of the known world, every thing she had ever tasted and ever dreamed of tasting proudly displayed in glowing gold italic script.

Henry ignored his own menu, instead fixing his eyes on her face, taking in every flicker of interest, every slight smile of excitement, for some reason fascinated by the speed of the emotions flashing across her features. When she finally looked up, the fixedness of his gaze was somehow disconcerting and Moniqua shot him a quizzing look, one brow laughingly lifted.

"You've already decided? You have not even observed the menu, _je le jure_."

Her smile invited him to share her humour; the strange urge to smile back had the opposite effect, creasing that smooth white brow in a frown of mingled frustration and confusion. Moniqua made no comment, after blinking once or twice she returned her gaze once more to the menu, sighing ruefully as she narrowed down her choices further to seven possibilities. Only once or twice did she allow herself to peep over the top.

Henry was holding his flute in long tapered fingers and his eyes staring at her from over the rim brought a tiny flush of colour to her cheeks.

Cursing inwardly, she quickly dropped her gaze once more.

* * *

An hour later, the entrées were long gone and the silverware had just been put together after the equally delicious main course. And as with the first, Charon appeared like a phantom, whisking away the empty plates with a wise, placid smile, staying only long enough to offer dessert. The pair declined, thanking him and after a little while of both of them sipping their wine, Moniqua broke the relatively easy silence.

"I received a billet from your mother."

The statement was pronounced in tones of uncertainty; Henry lifted his gaze from the reflection in his wine glass, to see Monroe running her index finger slowly around the rim, her face tilted towards the crystal flute. He rolled his eyes inwardly, refusing to humour her, and after a few moments of stubbornness, she was unable to ignore that unblinking stare any longer. Her head lifted barely an inch and she glanced up at him rather doubtfully through the fringe of thick black lashes. He returned her look blandly.

"Indeed."

His voice was cool, his interest polite only. Moniqua fixed her black eyes on his face and continued slowly.

"She invites me to visit her. To become…better acquainted."

Henry smiled faintly.

"Very proper."

Frustration kindled in those ebony pools. Her lips pouted, he heard the gauze of her dress rustle as infuriated fingers grasped and twisted it in an effort to keep her temper. It brought a gleam to his eyes, before it was swiftly veiled by heavy lids. Monroe's carefully controlled tones cut across the table, the smile still pinned determinedly to her lips.

"Is it…_convenable? _Does it vex you?" she said baldly.

Henry raised his brows in faint surprise.

"Why should it?"

"Because you are ze most…TH'e most private person I know." she pronounced the syllables carefully, annoyed by her own habit to revert to her native tongue when irritated. Monroe sent him a swift, searching look

"And I do not wish to you to think me prying." she finished softly, dropping those deep black eyes once more to her burgundy.

Henry was quite, momentarily at a loss. She wanted reassurance; a halfwit could grasp that much but he did not, as so often seemed to happen when dealing with this stubborn woman, comprehend _why_. She was to be his wife was she not? and he had long resigned himself to the knowledge that whoever he married would do her level best to ferret out his many secrets. That she would not succeed was obvious, but equally certain was that she would make the attempt. Henry suppressed the smallest of chuckles. Not even Monroe could be so different from the rest of her sex.

She was frowning at him and he met her accusing gaze with a flicker of amusement, wondering whether she'd somehow sensed his disparagement of both her and her fellows. Her next words seemed to indicate as much.

"I am _not_." she said resentfully. "And if you do not wish me to go, I will this very night refuse."

He sat back in his chair, eyeing her rather mockingly

"Monroe, are you actually asking my permission to do something?"

She coloured, just as he'd known she would, not with embarrassment but with anger.

"You are…_impossible! Arghh! _Permission! _Bah! _Never!" she spat at him, her eyes flashing in the candlelight. The corner of Henry's fine lips twitched.

"My apologies. I could have sworn…"

"En-RIKE!"

Her fist slammed onto the table, her eyes somehow both too bright and too dark, he puzzled over the contradiction. Her lips were parted, so the little perfectly white teeth could be seen between them, clenched painfully tight as she fought to suppress the blistering tirade. Then she shot a blind, raging glance towards the open tapestry, her fingers trembled, spasmed and with an heroic effort she breathed out heavily and forced her rigid body back into her chair.

Henry frowned.

He knew why she had thrown in the wand this time. He knew that she was right, that yet again she had saved them both from blowing their very fragile cover. Soundproof their enclave might be, but it was very visible and since the moment they'd walked in, almost every eye in the room flickered to them at least once every few minutes. Provoking the Quidditch Star now was not only stupid but…his eyes darkened, ignoble. She was incapable of fighting back; she could only take the blows he dealt and fake the empty smile he was growing more and more to hate.

The sudden sensation struck him like a hammer, one so unprecedented he left him almost reeling. He swallowed, but the bitter taste of remorse refused to be washed away.

The silence was heavy. He waited for her to move. To say something. She didn't.

Her entire form was rigid, tense like spooked cat, her small fingers trembling still ever so slightly against the beautiful walnut table. Her face was averted, so that the glow of the candles lit up her profile, casting her other side into shadow. Perhaps it was the white dress, the softly curled hair, but somehow, it occurred to him that she'd never looked so fragile.

That alone disconcerted him. The fact that he'd noticed, that he cared even just a little…discomforted him a thousand times more.

Therefore he did the only thing that, at that precise moment he could think of.

"Monroe.,.."

A tiny clench of her fist, still tightly closed on the polished table. He saw it. He saw the convulsion of her throat as she swallowed. The harsh little outtake of breath through her nose. The brush of black lashes on silken cheeks as she blinked too quickly and too much. And before he was hardly even aware of his own movement, Henry was out of his seat and standing before her with his hand outstretched.

"Dance with me."

Her entire body seemed to freeze, and when her ebony head finally swung round her eyes were round with shock. She stared at his hand, then once more at his face, as though undecided which of the two surprised her more. She held out her own almost gingerly; he fought the brief urge to roll his eyes with surprising ease.

Their fingers met. Gold and cream slipping into place with an strange sense of familiarity. The woman rose to her feet, gliding upwards with a queen's pride; he pulled her closer with a dancer's grace.

Moniqua could only stare up at him in astonishment, so much astonishment that she hardly noticed his tall frame leading her deftly out of the enclave to the centre of the room. It only grew as, rather than taking her arm in the classic way, instead he simply kept hold of her hand, the cool fingers smooth and relaxing against her skin. His behaviour was so unprecedented it was almost worrying; she could not drag her bewildered gaze away from his profile as he stepped onto the floor just as the previous waltz ended.

They stood there for the moment between one dance and the next, waiting for the music to begin again. A different melody, less bright and breezy than the first. Slow and full of much more meaning. Moniqua felt her lips quirk into a bemused half-smile at the irony. As always his face gave little away; tonight though she fancied it was somehow softer. There was perhaps just a flicker of warmth in those golden pools.

The tide of faces turned their way barely registered; she was waiting for what he would do next. The other couples were in place, waiting for the cue and when it came, suddenly - Moniqua breathed out, low and long - suddenly it all seemed to slip away.

The anger that had been bursting to explode inside her, the hurt, the loneliness that had been eating her up, the frustration at his pitiless efforts to provoke her, it all was expelled in tha one heavy sigh.

Her bare shoulders relaxed, her body lost it's rigid tension, softening against his hard frame and Henry felt the foreign sensation of relief sweep him under also. Because on the dance floor, their arguments seemed to fade into the background. There was something oddly soothing in the feel of her curvaceous figure pressed ever so slightly against his. Something inherently right about holding her in his arms. As though the proximity somehow both eased and calmed him; perhaps even her as well.

The steps were without thought for both of them; there was no effort in their smooth, deliberate turns about the floor. It was only relief; the tension leaking out and in its place the blossoming of this strange feeling of peace.

It was a odd sensation, this queer blankness of mind; Henry wasn't sure whether he was glad of it or not. An intellect such as his was rarely inert; he could hardly remember the last time his mind had simply slipped into such a lull. It was both discomforting and oddly pleasant, to be so at ease, so removed from the world and its woes.

He found himself suddenly looking down at his companion, wondering whether she too was musing over similar thoughts. Her black curls were all he could see, the gleamed richly in the light, lilting slightly to the beat and the sway of the dance, like a boat riding the ocean waves.

Her nose and chin obstructed his view of the diamond choker around her neck but it was nonetheless not unpleasant to know that it was there. His gift, one might almost say his mark. Reminding the eager observers of his supposed affection, the affection he had such difficulty feigning. However ridiculous it seemed, Monroe was somehow far better at playing her role than he was; indeed at times, she was the only reason the charade was still in place. It was a truth that irritated him; he was used to excelling in every way; why was it this simple piece of acting stubbornly eluded him and not her? It shouldn't be for her assume the entire weight of their performance.

Staring down at her bent head, it suddenly occurred to him that this was the reason for the earlier remorse. He had promised on the night they'd performed that kiss that he would double his efforts to feign affection for his intended. But instead he had not only failed in that objective, he had fallen into the habit of taking a merciless delight in provoking her until her own façade slipped. Whether for simple amusement, or perhaps an unconscious jealously, what did it matter? He was making this harder whilst Monroe, frustrating, stubborn and altogether infuriating as she frequently was, at least was making every effort to keep up their charade. And ignorant as she was of the truth, she was doing it solely for him.

It was a blinding thought. One that had his mouth fall open a little, his eyes wide and appalled at his own conduct. He who so prided himself on his faultless courtesy, as well as his cool-headedness. He was jeopardising Monroe's life simply because of some inexplicable enjoyment of provoking her. It was contemptible, his face hardened in rigid self-disgust and in that instant came to an iron resolve.

He had no need to glance about the room; the reporters were there, somewhere; he had heard the tiny snaps of camera lenses since the evening began. No, instead he looked down at the woman in his arms, waiting grimly for the music to stop. When it did, and she stepped back, leaving only their hands touching, he suddenly closed on her fingers with an unbreakable grip.

Monroe glanced up, her eyes round once more in confusion as the other twenty couples on the floor made their bows. Henry ignored the question in her upturned face and without a word, pulled her back, so that she stumbled slightly against his chest, her other hand going out to save herself.

They were as close as two people could publicly be, and without a pause, without even a breath, his long fingers lifted her surprised chin and he sealed his mouth over hers.

She tasted of shock, of burgundy and of sweetness, the sweetness that somehow he found himself remembering blazingly clearly. And just like that day, just like only a month ago, the urge to drink every melliferous drop hit him like a galloping thestral. Around them, he could hear cameras eagerly snapping, lights flashing as the reporters threw off their disguises, no longer caring whether they were found out or not. Security couldn't get there in time to stop them desperately snatching picture after picture, the wizards at the entrance would have to fight through the cheering crowds.

But all that was far away, as he felt his lips moving seemingly of their own accord, with that hunger he'd repressed during those two previous brief brushes of lips. This time there was no restraint, only that iron determination to play his part in this game, and a growing fire in his chest and his lower body he'd never before felt; something close to anger, and closer to need, but neither one nor other and somehow both. Her lips tore at his own just as fiercely, and he felt the familiar flicker of surprise, mingled with a strange rush of intense satisfaction he couldn't define. Her fingers gripped his robes, forcing down his head, his right hand was buried in those lustrous curls, the left pressed her full hips into his, in a distinct disregard for propriety that was surely making the many dowagers gasp and tut with dismay and the younger generation cat-call in slavish approval. She was returning the force and the pressure of his lips tenfold, and for a moment, a brief, bewildering moment, a treacherous tendril of thought wondered if maybe this was how they were supposed to be…

And then, sanity returned, like bucketful of icy water, dousing each and every emotion coursing through him and replacing it with the cold realisation that she truly was a far better actress than he.

As abruptly as it had started he pulled away, tearing their mouths apart so ferociously he could almost hear them rip. Monroe's eyes were blazing but in that moment of separation, they widened in something akin to hurt. Then she blinked, lifting a hand against the glare of camera flash after camera flash even as the security wizards forced their way to the guilty parties. Her cheeks were flushed, her expression slightly bemused but as those black eyes focused on the now struggling reporters something in them seemed to harden.

The dazed light that had been there suddenly blew out. Henry saw it and frowned, silently demanding why she was looking suddenly so very tense. The lips lifted into a smile even as he watched but it was not the grin of success, even approval he'd unconsciously been expecting.

Instead, Henry Potter watched her flash that smile at the crowd, bright and beaming and rosy-cheeked. He saw her lips, red and swollen from just moments across, lilting and laughing and yet curved upwards with an almost bitter twist, an edge of cynicism.

And as he offered her his arm, preparing to lead her back to their table, he thought he heard the half-laugh that escaped from them seem to break half-way.

* * *

**Soooooo? =) =) =) Any good? A little TOO heavy? Tell me either way lol! Oh and one last point I forgot at the beginning is, some of you may be thinking, "Oh god, they're dancing again, this is getting boring." But there is a reason for this namely being that, at the moment, the only real physical contact they have is when they dance. Because of course this is Harry's Grandparents day and they are the young upper-class, brought not to make public expressions of love or feeling. They don't snog in public which is why what Henry just did is HUGE, even holding hands is rare and therefore especially because they aren't a real couple in private, it's only really when they dance that they find themselves in close proximity to each other. You see? They won't touch in private because they're not a real couple, they aren't expected to touch in public except occasionally despite the charade, and so dancing is as I said their only possible romantic moment really.**

**Also I hope that this chapter really points out the difference of Henry's character to almost everyone else; even as he kisses, his minds is still analysing, whirling, defining. Whereas Moniqua, (as we saw, two chapters ago) is almost stunned into numbness and we the readers only realise what happened AFTER it's finished; Henry's mind is so acute that it's a hell of a lot longer, more intricate, he feels and memorizes every sensation, it's not necessarily more intense, more incredibly more defined, because that's what he is. A genius. **

**Anyway hope all my bla-bla makes things a little clearer, because this is an unbelievable difficult chapter and I'm not sure how it's go down. (Hence the uncontrollable babbling)**

**Reassure me? ;) Read and Review! XD**

**Luv ya!**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x**


	11. Chapter 11

**Alright guys, I know you're all hating me for taking so long with this one BUT when you read these next words I THINK you might find it in your hearts to forgive me. ;) It kinda spoils the surprise unfortunately but, well one has to play by the rules…**

**WARNING: SMUT! Kinda... Light smut in my opinion but still, warmer than my usual, so anyone underage or offended, well you know about it lol. Everyone else, I FORBID you all to skip ahead! XD XD XD Don't you dare! Dire vengeance will be reeked! ^^**

**The smut is actually the reason for this chapter taking so long lol. Originally the plan was beautifully simple; short into, little bit of romance following with argument, visit and then match. Perfect, laid-out, brilliant…**

**But this is me we're talking about…pfffffffffff. Basically I got smutted. I literally got swept away with my own imagination and what I've been deliberately NOT letting happen, well happened, or began to at least. Grrrrr. And of course having written it all, and falling in love with Henry and his MASSIVE stupidity in regards to emotions and love and everything, well I just had to leave it in sigh.. **

**But it DID muck up my plan. So NOW I'm posting this bit because I'm pissed off with myself, and will try to put up the next half, ( meaning the visit and the match) as soon as possible. So basically my INTRO ended up as the entire chapter and as it's over 8000 words long, I thought why not… Anyway, there is almost NO plot to this chapter, something I do NOT like, so please cheer me up by reviewing? =) **

**PRETTY please lol ^^**

**Luv y'all lots!**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x**

* * *

**First Steps Chapter 8**

It was rare for Moniqua to wake up early of her own choice. She always swore it was the Spanish blood in her, calling her to dance all night and then naturally sleep out the day. Lazy? Never! She would hex the man who dared to call her so! Restful perhaps. In any case, certainly not a "Lark " as the barbaric English man she lived with called it.

So it was strange to sit up in the huge four-poster bed to find what was unmistakably the sunrise greeting her bleary eyes. The glass walls gave the most dazzling view of it she'd ever seen and she had to admit; waking up before dawn was perhaps worth it after all, if only to seen the tapestry of red and gold and violet painted across the sky around her.

She dew the covers up to cover her chilled shoulders, resting her chin on her knees with her arms wrapped protectively around her legs.

The covers and hangings of the four poster bed were scarlet, the structure itself made of blackest ebony. It was plain, unusually so for the time but it made up for the lack ostentatious decorations with a certain, indefinable elegance. The columns were slim and created by a master with a love for his art that shone through without the need for fancy carvings. Perfectly round and hand-turned they gleamed with polish and stood proud and poised. The rest of the woodwork was just as beautiful, a true masterpiece; she had brought it over from France when it had been designed and created for her by an old friend of her father's.

Old Guy was a pureblood wizard but his wood-work was always done completely the muggle way. Indeed he had been the first person to install in her the controversial opinion that some things magic could not replace, such as skill and practise and love.

Even to this day she remembered his rough, French tones, laughing gruffly at her puzzled expression as she watched him work the wood with a plane and then smaller, more intricate tools. It had blossomed under his calloused fingers like a flower, and she had gurgled in delight as that was exactly what he drew out of the lump of mahogany; a rose in full blossom, smooth as he sanded it, gleaming as he rubbed the oil into the grain.

She kept it still, in a little vase that sat on her bedside table. Moniqua turned to smile at it fondly. The rich colour and shine was the exact match of Henry's hair oddly enough, and never failed to bring him to her thoughts. Not that she needed the prompting.

She glanced at the door almost unconsciously, her mind already filled with his face. Would he be still asleep? Would he be awake? Staring out the glass walls over the city, occasionally addressing the odd quiet word to Moriaty?

Colour rose in her cheeks remembering the time she had found him just so, and more specifically the shirtless state her roommate had been in.

Saliva stole into her mouth; it had been without a doubt the most beautiful back she'd ever seen, and in her sporting line of profession, she'd seen many. Flawless and smooth like cream silk, the muscles evident and powerful beneath the supple skin. They'd rippled as he'd turned, sensing her presence, raising a questioning brow as her face had flushed completely red. As if she could have helped it when faced with those impossibly defined abs, those hard pectorals and the prominent "V " that disappeared into the baggy black sweatpants he slept in. His shoulders were even broader than she'd imagined, carved and sculpted like a weight-lifter; the sight had robbed her of speech until Henry's impatient tones had recalled her from her daze, demanding if something was wrong.

Wrong? _Non, pas du tout, voyons! _Just a minor craving to jump you and lick chocolate from your torso…Nothing to worry about!

Laughter bubbled and with it the ever-present quivering of desire. Suddenly she was restless, and Moniqua squirmed a little trying to clear head of the image of doing just that and the feelings it provoked in her. Curse the man! To hell, _putain_! She had lost count of the males who had tried to flirt with her, wanted her but here she was unable to even look at any of them.

All for a pale, bloodless boy, a _Roz-Beef classique_! _Bah! _

She'd lost her virginity at fifteen to a guy at Beauxbatons, a sixth year and incidentally the most sought over boy in the school. It had been a parting shot, out of curiosity more than anything else after six months of flirting. She had taken to it like a duck to water and Nicolas was he not called?, Yes, Nicolas de Maine, brother of the famous heartbreaker Antoine himself, had been all too happy to satisfy her new-found enjoyment and curiosity. They had explored their own and each others bodies fully and learned the skills and the delights of love-making night after night until the very last before her departure a month later.

She had exchanged to Hogwarts and all her newfound pleasure in physical love had dried up in a single instant. Because he was the most beautiful boy she'd ever seen and although she hadn't realised it until many years later, from the first moment of setting eyes on the Potter Prodigy, no one else would do.

Every boy had something lacking; dalliance was only amusing if he was there to see it. Every careless kiss she had bestowed after one Hogsmede weekend or another, had been because of those hazel eyes, looking on in contempt and condemnation. That and the pounding, delicious thrill of knowing that in spite of everything, he would always watch, white-lipped, disgusted, repulsed and yet…still he would watch.

She had danced around him and the effect he had on her for all the years they were in school together, preferring to laugh and tease and provoke rather than admit to the longing that she refused to acknowledge. The approaching end of Seventh Year had been an unpleasant wake-up call.

It was during their revisions for NEWTS, one late night in the Head's Common Room that the truth had suddenly, blindingly dawned upon her.

Silence had reigned for over three hours, a comfortable one for once as they simply read and re-read until their eyes blurred. She had been unable to stop herself from glancing at him every few minutes, and it irritated her without knowing why. He had been sitting near the fire and the light thrown by the flickering flames set his bent chestnut head aglow in a way that was…stunning to behold. His hair was struggling against the charm that held it slicked back and the single lock hung in front of his face as his eyes scanned the pages at a speed that seemed impossible. His shirt for once had been open at the neck, his tie cast off after dinner; lending a rare dishevelled look to his normally rather anal appearance.

She had been peeping at him over the pages of her Potions textbook when, in a ridiculously simple gesture, he had folded his own manual closed, leaned back into the cushions, pushed up his muscled arms and stretched them above his head. And as they fell back to his side on the sofa, his eyes had caught hers, for once free of contempt and scorn, and lit up with a rueful half-smile that left her completely stunned.

It had been like a whack on the head, such an alarming, impossible revelation that Moniqua remembered her jaw falling open in horror. The book had slipped out of her numb fingers. He'd frowned, lips parted to ask the question; she couldn't, wouldn't hear it; she'd leapt to her feet and ran into her own bedroom, slamming the door shut and sliding down it with her back to the wood into a heap on the floor, desperately trying to refute the awful truth…

She, Moniqua Jasmina Monroe, international hero and celebrity, one of the wealthiest self-made teenagers in Europe had a hopeless crush on her most hated rival, the one boy who barely even acknowledged her existence.

It had been a horrifying moment and even more so as she'd realised that in under two months she would, in all likelihood never see him again. After practically living with him for a year, sharing a bathroom with him for Merlin's Sake, patrolling hour after hour by his side… the thought that he would soon be out of her life completely was like knife-thrust through the heart.

No more blazing arguments. No more of those brief moments of mutual complicity that were all the more precious because they were so rare. No more deliberately leaving her clothes all over the place to infuriate him, no more screaming in vexation as he refused yet another of her wild and wonderful ideas in front of their very amused Headmaster. No more…them.

It took two weeks to become accustomed to the new and unwelcome feelings. Two weeks of avoiding his eye and flushing slightly when that bored drawl floated over her shoulder to her ears. But Moniqua Monroe was not one to bemoan her fate nor to deny the obvious even to herself, and after those fourteen days were finished she had resigned herself to the butterflies that assailed her stomach in his presence and had managed to resume their uneasy acquaintance without the appearance of there being anything amiss.

Henry had not asked the reason for the two-week absence; she could not even truthfully say whether he had noticed it. It was a dreadfully lowering thought but no-one observing Moniqua's gay, charming demeanour could have guessed that she was suffering from the pangs of an unrequited love. She made the most of the remaining month and half, taking every opportunity to provoke and infuriate her fellow Head, simply for the thrill of pulling some kind of reaction from him.

So that her annoyingness at least he would not forget…

He had born this with unexpected tolerance, so much so that if Moniqua had had even a slightly less guard over her emotions, she would have indulged in the hope that perhaps he too was conscious of their rapidly diminishing time together and therefore unwilling to spend their last weeks arguing.

In any event there had been a certain wild, desperation in Moniqua's giddiness during that last month; just as Henry's behaviour had been the closest to friendly she had ever experienced from him. No less than twelve times during that last month she had managed her goal of making him smile, and even, she grinned from remembered delight, on three occasions had had the pleasure of hearing his deep chuckle, the memory of which she cherished to this day.

After such an amiable six weeks together it seemed almost cruel that it should be their last. Moniqua remembered tossing and turning that last night, wondering if she would have the courage to carry out her plan. Would he say no, curling his lip at her contemptuously? Surely he wouldn't, she hadn't seen that sneer for some time. But if he did, she'd shuddered, before her eyes had opened wide as he pondered her next problem. What if he said _yes_? What would she do? Should she say more, tell him that actually after all those years of fighting with him, she well, kind of fancied him? It had sounded pathetic even in her own mind and she'd cringed.

She didn't sleep a wink that night.

But she'd done it, she'd given him the ticket and he, miraculously had accepted it. After a few biting comments but still, Merlin she still remembered the excitement bursting in her chest as he'd taken the pink slip from her fingers. And to her greater shock, he'd actually come to the match too. Her chest swelled as it had then, remembering the glowing pride of being handed the trophy with him looking on, watching with just a hint of approval. The screaming supporters and adoring fans had been nothing; it was that infinitesimal smile that had had her floating on air during the entire press conference.

Then of course the party, wearing a dress specifically designed to make him pause, to inspire some blinding revelation in him that she could be more than just his annoying ex-partner and class-mate; they could maybe be more. Be…something. She'd prayed to all the gods, crossed her fingers, toes, arms and legs that he would contact her after walking out that door. One way or the other; either to say he would go and fight in her place, or to say he would not, and hopefully ask to see her again.

Neither had happened and as the weeks turned into months and the months into years, she'd learned to deal with the unbearable ache ever present in her chest.

Dumbledore's mission gave her purpose and she had fulfilled it admirably, enticing the pureblood youth to her cause and noting those unwilling, flirting and coaxing secrets from high-up officials, listening at closed doors for dark whispers. The role of spy had oddly enough suited her, more than she ever could have imagined and as the months passed her techniques had been honed; lying, bluffing, beguiling and seducing, she'd added each and every one to her growing armoury of skills. She had discovered that the growing sympathy for the pureblood cause was almost completely due to an unknown and unnamed Leader, and it was his youth, his power and his charisma that drew more and more supporters every day to their cause.

For over a year she had tried to discover the identity of this man, as well as his chief followers, his backers. But every wealthy pureblood family donated to a multitude of charities and untangling the routes of dirty money was all but impossible. All she knew, all that Dumbledore would tell her was that vast sums were somehow leaking into the cause' pockets, by anonymous donors. It was frustrating; the feeling that something important was being hidden from her simply refused to go away but she pushed it aside as best she could because of her trust in her former Headmaster and her respect for his genius. If Dumbledore believed she would be better off not knowing then she would accept his judgement as she would accept no one else's. Even to the point of keeping her dealings secret from her soon-to-be fiancé.

* * *

Moniqua pushed of the covers, suddenly restless. The thought of hiding something so important from Henry troubled her greatly, had always troubled her; a chill, a premonition perhaps that one day she would regret not trusting him, but like the guilt she did her best to throw off the dark thoughts and move on to the day's plans.

She swung her legs round and jumped off the four-poster bed with a thud, pausing only to grab her wand that sat as always well within reach on her bedside table. It had been one of the first things Henry had insisted upon when he had accepted the role as her bodyguard; instilling in her some basic safety measure, the most important of which being "Never go anywhere, even to the bathroom without your wand ".

She had laughed and teased but his cold expression had not wavered, so with a pout she had reluctantly promised. Having given her word she would rather die than break it.

The penthouse was heated to a pleasant twenty degrees; Moniqua glanced at the dressing gown flung over the dressing table chair before shaking her head and moving to the door. The negligé that she was wearing had been a gift for her eighteenth birthday; it was as scarlet as the bed hangings, very lacy, very short. Most people would stare to hear that she wore the sexy little number to bed most nights, but it was a comfort thing. Her mother had picked it out for her, with wicked eyes and a prim mouth, her mother she so rarely saw nowadays. Feeling the soft silk against her skin was the closest reminder of Maman and home she hadn't seen in over three years.

The flimsy silk rustled slightly as she moved, padding bare-foot across the beautiful black flooring to the door that separated her bedroom from the rest of the pent-house. It creaked at she teased it open, her heart thudding like a drum in her chest. Foolish, she scolded herself, it was hers was it not? And if she felt like waking up at six-am it was her right, no?

It was noticeably more loudly that she marched into the open plan living-kitchen and dining area, with a rebellious toss of her head and an audible snort. The challenge was written all over her face as she immediately turned to jut her chin towards the glass doors onto the terrace, but the tall form she was expecting to see, silhouetted in the morning light, was absent.

Moniqua's cheeks flushed slightly, her minor temper tantrum now seeming decidedly foolish, and with a rueful grin she made her way across the semi-dark room, hands outstretched for balance, towards the red and gold sky that beckoned teasingly through the transparent walls.

Just as she was passing the luxurious leather couch a sudden roaaa-ring noise made her jump three foot in the air.

Her heart was in her mouth, fingers clutching at her wand as she gazed wide-eyed about the room. Nothing. No movement. No sound. Moniqua swallowed and took another cautious step when the noise erupted once more, just inches below her. Moniqua, fearless and supremely confident, barely repressed a shriek of terror.

Her round eyes snapped down, in the direction of the rasp and as the cause became apparent, her jaw dropped to the floor.

The rough gravely sound was sucked out of his chest and then snorted out once more into the stunned silence.

Seconds passed.

It started with just a twitch of the lips, then a quirk, a grin before suddenly Moniqua was holding back hysterical laughter. Her eyes streamed and she stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep the giggles was escaping. But she couldn't help it! It was ridiculous, impossible.

The image of cool, composed male perfection was currently ensconced upon the sofa, mouth hanging open, hair like a brown haystack, snoring like a wild boar!

Moniqua was biting her lip so hard it threatened to tear in two, her eyes huge as she took in her companion's appearance with undisguised glee. A sliver of drool was just hovering at the corner of his mouth, somehow still beautiful even sagging open against the cushions. And the hair! Moniqua stared and stared, blinking furiously but the unbelievable image didn't disappear. That sleek, chestnut mane was still splattered across the black leather like paint. She marvelled, thinking of the charms he must use every day to keep such a shock under control. Talk about bed-head!

The laughter died down until only a twinkle of amusement still lingered in her eyes. Slipping round to the front of the couch as silently as possible, she hesitated and then, dreamlike, lowered herself into a crouch on the floor.

His face, pale and perfect in the half-light, was inches from hers. His chest rose and fell with each pig-like snore, but somehow even the ridiculous sound couldn't quite spoil the picture. It caused her lips to twitch certainly, but the odd, almost childlike expression on his face soon chased away the malicious enjoyment.

In sleep his mask seemed to melt, the lines of his face softened. The tufts of hair that were falling into his eyes, quivered with each breath, thick and gleaming and utterly untameable if she hadn't known better. He was dressed still in the clothes from the night before, the top three buttons undone, the rest of the white shirt rumpled and creased. His shoes were off and one leg was bent upright and leaning against the back of the sofa comfortably.

He looked for once completely at peace, and Moniqua felt another, very tiny smile tug up the corners of her lips. Her hand was reaching towards his face before she had even consciously expressed the aching longing to touch him. The tips of her fingers were inches away… millimetres….and finally one digit just brushed the skin of his cheekbone.

In a flash his hand was at her throat, merciless fingers wrenching her up, crushing her jugular! The other had the wand at her pulse-point before she even had time to breath. The air came out as a strangled gasp, she tore helplessly at his grip all the while staring pleadingly as those pale lids slowly slid open and the hazel eyes beneath them were revealed. Like forest fires, they blazed and burned all in their path.

It took three point five-six seconds for reality to come crashing down like a tidal wave. When it did, his hand was torn back, his eyes turning round and stricken in sudden panic as she dropped from his steel grip into a coughing and spluttering heap on the floor.

"Monroe! What the…? Merlin, you fool, what were you thinking! "

Lifting her head, Moniqua managed to send him a reasonably vicious glare. Still rubbing her bruised throat she pulled herself upright to her knees, eyes fairly spitting sparks at him as she snapped back

"_MOI? C'est toi connard! _You who would try to murder me! Stupid, barbaric, idiotic… "

She would have gone on but he reached out and yanked her up onto the couch without ceremony, merely rolling his eyes at her tirade.

Moniqua's breast swelled with indignation, her eyes flashed magnificently and she was just about to launch into a pungent and ripping defamation of his character, his disposition, his manners, not to mention his psychopathic tendencies… when he cut her off effectively by lifting her chin and running an unbearably gentle finger down the bruises he had left.

The words hovering on her lips vanished; instead a highly embarrassing whimper escaped and Moniqua jerked away from him as though he'd burned her. Henry shot her an impatient look and shuffled forward on the sofa until they were all but touching.

"Let me see. " he ordered in a voice that would brook no defiance.

Moniqua could only nod.

His chest was barely inches from her own, and when those warm fingers pressed against her skin once more, it was all she could do to not throw herself upon her companion and snog the life out of him. Only the look of shock and repugnance that her imagination conjured up prevented her from performing this impulsive action and Moniqua breathed in a slow, controlled breath, trying her best to still her pounding heart.

If he heard it he gave no sign, his brown lowered as he examined the red fingerprints appearing gradually on her tender skin. Still with her head averted, she felt him touch the most painful of the bruises with his wand. A short mutter and the growing ache vanished abruptly. With a sigh of what could almost have been relief, Henry pulled away and ran a harassed hand through his mob of chestnut hair. Moniqua twisted her head from side to side experimentally before giving him a grateful smile.

He didn't acknowledge it; he was still staring blindly into nothing. The mask was in place but instinct could feel the emotions whirling beneath his frozen features. Guilt supremely, while relief and frustration battled in the shadows. Frustration won out. A moment later, his eyes snapped back into focus, fixing on her face and sending such a ferocious glare that Moniqua felt herself bristle instinctively.

"What in God's name to you think you were doing? To sneak up on a sleeping, fully-trained auror is a folly that I believed not even you could be so imprudent to commit! "

Moniqua flushed, her eyes kindling.

"I did not know you were trained to kill any person that came near! You did not think at all to warn? " she snapped back. "You future wife should perhaps be _au courant _before she shares your bed! "

Henry's lip curled

"My apologies; I had no idea you had the intention of doing so. Was your object in waking me up a demand to share also the sofa with me? "

The irony stung like a whiplash. Moniqua bit her lip and send a look of hatred at the sneer she remembered from the first few years of their acquaintance. She'd loathed it then, that faint curve of the lips. Cold, cruel and contemptuous.

Moniqua felt her cheeks flush; there was just enough truth in his mocking words for her swallow and glance away. She didn't answer for a long moment, unsure as how to respond to such rare viciousness, a lump obstructing her throat in any case. She would not cry! Never! She would not let him know how much it hurt to hear the mocking sarcasm in his voice as he spoke of their sharing a bed. Yes, she had supposed…fool that she was! This was a marriage of convenience! They would probably not even share the same house!

With great dignity and greater courage she turned back to the sofa and said with a tight smirk

"You have the ability to impregnate at long-distance? Then of a surety we shall not do so. "

Henry rolled his eyes.

"If it your intention for me to _impregnate_ you every night Monroe, I will be obliged to set up an entire new learning establishment solely for our offspring. " he snapped back without humour.

Her hands curled into claws; she narrowed her eyes, rage flashing their depths and cried

"It is perhaps a precaution necessary if you mean to kill any and all of them that disturb you whilst you sleep! "

There was silence. That heavy painful silence when an argument has gone too far, and words have been spoken that cannot be unsaid. Moniqua could have torn out her tongue, her expression suddenly agonised. His was empty as the grave.

"Potter, I… "

Without a word Henry rose to his feet, crossed the room to his own bedchamber and shut the door behind him.

* * *

At ten-thirty Moniqua was woken from her troubled sleep by the unmistaken sounds of voices in the kitchen. With a sinking heart she sat up, head swimming slightly and leant back against the leather upholstery. She didn't remember falling asleep, but after the tears had cried themselves out she supposed she had simply curled up in the empty place he had vacated. Moniqua brushed her hair out of her eyes and didn't remove her hand.

The footsteps of someone entering the living space forced her to lift her head. Henry was standing there, tall, rigidly straight and one look at his handsome face was enough to know that he had retreated from her completely. His expression was harder than she'd seen in years, his mouth curled into a permanent sneer. He stared straight over her head and said woodenly

"Flipsy has breakfast waiting for you. "

Moniqua swallowed painfully.

"Thank you. " she said quietly.

He nodded and immediately strode back into his own room, the decided snap of the door enough to make Moniqua wince. Inwardly she screamed, furious with herself and him for provoking her into such terrible behaviour. With a hopeless shake of her handsome head she rose to her feet and marched wordlessly round the counter and into the kitchen.

Flipsy had been good enough to take care of them during the two months they'd been living together. Moniqua had originally objected; unused to being waited upon but Henry replied coldly that he would not live in any house without her. At first she had assumed that this stubbornness was due to his refusal to cook and clean for himself; it was reprehensible but as the Potter heir, she supposed it was somewhat understandable and so Moniqua had allowed him to have his way. Two weeks into their cohabitation, however and it had been born in forcibly on Moniqua that she had never been so wrong in her life.

Henry Potter was in no way reliant upon a house-elf's service, he was in fact quite simply attached to her company.

The first clue of this surprising fact was the rare tone of affection he'd used when speaking to the elf. But the shocking discovery had really been made some two weeks later.

Moniqua had been astonished to walk in one morning at some unearthly hour to find her betrothed actually grinning. She had halted at the entrance to the kitchen, watching in disbelief as Flipsy had scowled, unravelled the second tea-towel that hung over her arm, rolled it up and proceeded to smack the young man at the breakfast table sharply over the head. Henry had shied away, still chuckling as the tiny creature threw him a look of deep dislike, threw the piece of cloth back over her shoulder and resumed her place on the step that stood before the stove.

The pancakes were tossed and piled up onto a plate but instead of placing them before her charge she'd descended from the wooden steps and planted herself firmly before him. The scolding that followed was shrill and vehement enough to make even Moniqua wince. Master Ethan's embarrassing lack of conduct was NOT a subject for amusement! Charming a professor's robes to look like a pineapple was NOT behaviour befitting a gentlemen! And if ever again Flipsy found Master Henry encouraging his brother's misdemeanours he could wash and iron his clothing _himself_ in the future!

With one last baleful glare, one last jab of a bony finger, the elf had finally relented enough to allow her charge his favourite breakfast, and the warmth on Henry's face faded only when Moniqua cleared her throat a trifle sheepishly.

Henry's face had closed up instantly, his mask unbreakable, his expression cold and defensive. She'd slipped into a chair and thanked the elf shyly for the plate that Flipsy put down in front of her with an abruptly sunny smile. She'd inquired causally about the letter lying open still on the table but her companion had folded it up saying merely that it was a letter from his brother. The brutal snub had hurt, more than she'd cared to show but Moniqua had smiled brightly and ate her pancakes without further remark.

Flipsy was not cooking pancakes today and when Moniqua slipped listlessly into her chair the little elf sent her a sympathetic look.

"Will Miss be wanting toast? " she asked in her squeaky voice.

Moniqua shook her head with a small smile.

"Not today Flipsy, thank you. "

The tiny elf nodded briskly and tipped the fried eggs onto a clean plate, added the bacon, hash browns, beans and sausages, and placed the splendid looking breakfast before.

"It's hot Miss, better hot it is. " she beamed and waggled her ears encouragingly and Moniqua had to smile.

"_Merci_. "

She began to eat in silence and beyond looking at her troubled face worriedly, Flipsy seemed to take no notice, busying herself with cleaning up the pan and the stove. After a few minutes had passed, Moniqua put down her knife and fork and looked up with a faint sigh.

"Flipsy? "

The elf turned around, tennis-ball eyes wide and curious.

"Miss? "

"Would you,…would it be _convenable_ for you to accompany me to the House of Madame Dreamer? "

Flipsy blinked but nodded vigorously.

"But yes, Miss. When is you wishing to go? "

"Today, around 3-o-clock if it is possible. I would ask 'Enri but… " she trailed off and Flipsy nodded even more enthusiastically, her expression understanding.

"Flipsy is happy to help, Miss. T'is a pleasure. "

With a beaming smile the elf turned back to the washing up snapping her long fingers so that the pots and pan levitated themselves over to the sink. Moniqua watched, faintly smiling as the elf launched herself into the battle against the burnt oil with a vengeance, her sweet little face almost vicious as she glared at the dirty pan as though it had personally offended her. She had long given up offering her services in the kitchen, Flipsy had politely but vehemently refused while at the same time giving the impression of having been somewhat insulted by the insinuation that she could not do her job to satisfaction. Moniqua had thrown up her hands in surrender and the threesome had gone on very comfortably ever since.

The smell of baked beans and crispy bacon rose off the plate before her to tantalize her nose. She turned back to her breakfast and applied herself fully to it's consumption, her mind returning to it's most pressing obligation; the question of why Henry's mother should wish to see her alone.

* * *

Moniqua did not see her bodyguard again the entire morning, nor even when Flipsy beat time on the gong that heralded lunch.

It was a lazy Sunday, training was paused for the weekend while the Magpies' best Beater was in St Mungo's with a broken wrist and so, unable to leave the apartment without her protectors permission and unwilling to face his icy politeness by attempting an apology that would certainly be ignored, Moniqua was left to amuse herself as best she could. In some ways the lack of hustle and bustle was a welcome relief. It was a rare treat to be able to forgo shower, make-up and outfit-picking and simply lounge on her bed and listen to one of Papa's cd's in her night-clothes. However as the clock-hands inched closer to the hour of departure, Moniqua became more and more restless, wondering how to broach the news to her sulking companion that she to spend the afternoon having tea with his formidable mother.

Finally, when the watch on her wrist declared that it would soon time to begin getting dressed and ready, she steeled her courage, marched towards his silent room and knocked loudly on the firmly closed door.

"Potter."

No answer. Rolling her eyes in that idiotic gesture, she tried again, louder this time.

"Potter!"

Silence. Moniqua felt her temper rising and bit back the urge to kick the beautifully polished wood, instead calling out again with careful control,

"Potter, I have need to speak to you!"

Still no sound from the other side and Moniqua stamped her foot in fury.

"'ENRI POTTER! _Ouvre cette porte_! Immediately I tell you! Or I enter and scream in your stupid, stubborn ears!"

His voice floated through the door, cold and laced with sarcasm.

"An empty threat Monroe, you do so every hour of every day."

Moniqua saw red and without thinking, without reflecting on the consequences, drew her wand.

BANG!

The slab of mahogany was blown out off its hinges and of its frame, and slammed into the far wall of the infuriating bastards private chambers with a crash and a cloud of dust. Moniqua stormed into the room in its wakes, a thundering tornado, wand brandished, eyes crackling like black lightening, snapping back and forth as she searched the room for the culprit!

He was lying perfectly relaxed upon the four-poster bed that dominated the right side of the room. A book was held up in front of his face with a graceful hand, his beautiful hazel eyes fixed on its pages.

He didn't even glance at her.

Her temper already in shreds; this cool indifference was beyond all bearing. Her chest heaving with rage, she advanced upon the bed and its occupant, wand outstretched and fairly screamed

"Potter you are the most FOUL!…the most INFURIATING!, stupid, selfish ENCULE, I have ever in my LIFE had the misfortune to meet!"

His lip curled, something in his jaw clenched but he replied with perfect, provoking composure,

"Possibly."

Three long moments of silence…then,

"ARGHH!"

Nothing could have prepared either of them for what happened next. The wand was hurled across the room, the screaming banshee launched herself after it to land on the bed, arms flailing, hair flying as she proceeded to punch, kick, and maim every part of her victim's body she could reach!

Henry's eyes flew open as the unexpected weight of her body had pinned him down and winded him. He struggled for breath, so stunned by this surprise attack that his auror reflexes didn't immediately kick in. The punches rained down upon him, each one punctuated by a screamed curse or insult!

"YOU!" Ooff her fist rammed into his temple

"IDIOT!" Knuckles left a bruise on his jaw,

"BASTARD!"

"FUCK MONROE!" He swore as her knee buried itself with painful accuracy in his groin. Henry hissed through his teeth, eyes like shards of glass, as training took over. His hands grabbed her wrists, his legs came up and hooked through hers, trapping them and preventing them from further movement. She struggled in his hold, wriggling and spitting like a snake.

"'lease me! Now! _Lache moi crevard_!"

"Not until you regain some vague _semblance_ of sanity!"

"ARGHH!" She screamed again in frustration, worming back and forth so stubbornly that his own frustration flickered. With a growl he pushed them to the right and rolled sharply, landing on top of her and shoving her struggling frame into the bed covers. She bared her teeth at him, glaring up into his face furiously, kicking her legs, trying to get him off her, but he outweighed her easily, and his iron grip didn't even waver.

"Damn you, Enriqué! _Lache moi!"_

He threw her look of dislike, lips curling contemptuously.

"And allow you another attempt at castrating me with your knee-cap? No, I thank you."

She snarled and struggled harder, her entire body frantically twisting and turning as she tried to break his hold. But his thoughts were suddenly wandering, distracted. His jaw clenched, brow furrowed, fighting the feelings, trying to regain control but when she flailed again, the friction between their bodies was so intense and unexpected that his eyes turned round in shock.

"Stop that." he forced out through his teeth.

She stared up at him, panting hard, cheeks flushed as red as that tiny strip of lace that was all that covered her modesty. Henry's throat was suddenly dry, as for the first time that morning her apparel registered. The red silk was pushed all the way up her thighs from their wrestling, one flimsy strap wrenched down her shoulder to hang open around her arm. That thick mane of ebony hair was thrown across his pillow, mussed and tangled, a black shadow across the dark blue velvet.

Time seemed to stand still. Neither of them moving, only the heavy breaths punctuated the tense silence. Hers panting from exertion, his quickening with something…something strange.

Blood pounded in his head, her pulse louder than a drum in his sensitive ears, his own like thunder claps, only fast and frantic and…heat washed up his entire frame, intense bewildering heat. The places where his bare skin touched her burned in something almost like pain and yet somehow a hellish pleasure. The silk hid nothing, certainly not to his eyes, and again he fought for some lingering drop of saliva as his gaze found its way to her heaving chest. Henry Potter for the first time in his life, swallowed convulsively.

Her breasts were straining through the lace, each rise and fall bringing them momentarily closer. Round and firm from all her Quidditch training, they sat proud and high upon her ribcage, soft, tantalizing, perfect… As though she'd read his mind, the nipples puckered and turned hard as pebbles, entirely too visible through the thin material. Henry couldn't drag his gaze away; it was all he could do to stop himself from reaching for them.

Part of his mind still focused on this new and bewildering fact, another part was pointing out that he was almost fully hard. Another light movement from her hips or his, would send him over… Fighting for control he dragged his eyes upwards to her face. The air hummed and crackled. Her pupils were huge, making her eyes blacker and more liquid than ever; they seemed endless like time or space. Monroe's lips were parted, her breaths coming slower now but still heavy, her cheeks still flushed that delicious red. His mind screamed at him; what was he doing? This was Monroe beneath him, the girl he'd all but grown up with. His biggest thorn and nuisance. But his body was telling him otherwise, focusing only on her quivering form, her parted lips, that look in her eyes as though… Desperation. Yearning. Want.

Suddenly she was straining against his grip.

"Enriqué…please…" It was a pleading gasp, and it shocked him to his sense. He released her wrists instantly, appalled with his own behaviour. How had he let himself… Merlin, he could have…

Any thought he might have had was cut off as she hurtled her torso upright, yanked his face forward and fastened her lips fiercely to his.

Shock left Henry's eyes round and stunned, it took him a moment to register what was happening. Her hands reached up and gripped his hair, tugging him closer, wrenching at the strands impatiently as though trying to wake him into responding. Her mouth was hot and desperate, ravaging his ferociously and suddenly instinct kicked in, throwing off the shock with a masculine growl, and every other thing faded away as he kissed her ruthlessly back.

His tongue swept over her lips once before forcing them open brutally, and as he delved into her mouth a mewl of pleasure escaped from her throat. It tasted sweet and surprised and he swallowed the sound up greedily. His legendary brain was put on hold, all reason and logic cast away as his hands ran up and down the smooth muscles of her back, pressing them closer.

Vaguely he registered her legs squirming under him, as thought trying to get free. He shifted, allowing them to slide sideways but tightening his grip on her shoulders and waist, as though forbidding her to slip away. She had no such thought in mind. In stead she sat up on her knees, one hand pushing relentlessly down the collar of his shirt to clasp greedily at his shoulders, the other fully occupied in ruining completely the charm he used to fix his hair into its daily order.

Suddenly he eased his mouth away; she made a sound of frustration and bit his lip, pulling him back but he was determined. Her expression of panic faded as he removed his mouth only to change location, skimming down the golden arch of her neck to suckle at the pulse point. Monroe gasped at the sensation; a smirk of pure masculinity curved his lips upwards as he applied more pressure, nipping and pulling at the reddened flesh as though savouring its taste.

He didn't notice her hands busily undoing each shirt button but suddenly the material was pushed off, exposing his skin to the cool air. He blinked in surprise but she was already tugging him back, running her splayed hands over every inch of his torso with deep groans of appreciation.

"_Mon Dieu, qu'est ce que t'est beau_, mon coeur_,_» she murmured, "Beautiful. Beautiful… AHHH _mon amour!_»

My heart…?

My love…?

Henry's eyes flashed open and in a blink he had wrenched his mouth away.

Moniqua stared, mouth parted and swollen in confusion and lust but he didn't meet her eyes. Instead he rose from the bed without a word, retrieving his shirt from the corner of the room where she thrown it, and slipping his arms into the sleeves.

The girl on the bead simply gaped, completely bewildered. Words did not come; she found none. He was walking away as though they hadn't just well and truly made out on his bed. She was…at a loss.

"Henri…" she tried, stumbling slightly over the syllables, confusion evident in her voice.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd leave."

Cold, callous and cutting, Moniqua flinched away from the words with a gasp as though he'd physically struck her. She shook her head, half-stunned, half-furious, with anger gaining the advantage every second he just stood there impassively without even looking at her.

"Potter…" she slipped into the old way of calling him unconsciously, "I…why?"

Suddenly he spun on his heel, and she Moniqua cringed back from the terrible expression on his face.

"I have no interest in replacing your lover, whoever he may be Monroe." he drew in a deep breath, but before she had time to demand what on earth he was talking about, he was already speaking once more, coldly and smoothly, the mask firmly in place.

"This period of forced abstinence must be painful for the both of you; forgive my lack of consideration. I will tell you the spell to remove and replace the wards, thereby allowing you to receive your own visitors in the privacy of your bedchamber. You would kindly refrain from entering my chambers in the future, if you please."

He strode to the empty door frame with that impossible grace that bewitched the brain into simply watching in awe. She snapped to her senses as he bowed, and indicated the way out. Moniqua flushed with temper at the insult, her face still creased in confusion and frustration.

"Henri this is…I understand nothing!" she tried one last time, a note of pleading stealing into her voice. He curled his lip into the sneer she hated most.

"A condition you must be well used to." he said silkily, "If you please, Monroe."

He waved one hand once more to the exit. Moniqua stared as hurt, rejection, anger all welled up into a huge lump in her throat. Without a word she leapt of the bed, grabbed her wand from the floor and marched out with her chin firmly aloof. At the doorway she hesitated, hoping, praying that he would hold her back. He didn't. Those beautiful lips curled into an expression of deepest contempt and Moniqua could stand it no longer. Her eyes flashed in fury, her wand lifted and the stinging hex left a vicious red welt in his cheek.

"I…hate…you." she hissed, and stormed into her own room, slamming the door behind her.

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**I know, not a happy ending sigh, but well, it couldn't be really, because he's not seeing the light yet and he won't for some time. And this incident, although unplanned, actually helps the plotline along. You see, Henry obviously thinks that she's in love, or at least lust with someone else, or that when they were snogging she was thinking of this other man, which for a reason he doesn't get, really pisses him off. That's why he's in a tissy fit sigh. But the reason this is an angry ending, (just like the last chapter,) is because the Happy/funny bit is still to come. I know I always seem to be saying that lol… But Henry's going to be even more jealous by the someone else's presence at the match….^^ BUT it will finish on a good note! Promise! =) It had too lol, because after that, well…the problems will start…**

**Anyway, I hope you liked this very short, (in the plotline sense; it's only the morning before the visit lol, about a week after last chapter.), scene. TELL me what you think, Read, I hope enjoy and as always, review!**

**Luv ya! **

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x x **


	12. Bonus Scenes Tasters for All 3 stories

_**Hey there all! I know this is inhumanely short update and you're all probably ready to linch me but the reason is simple: It was my birthday yesterday! =) =) =) My 21**__**ST**__** Birthday for that matter and I wanted to post something **_**^^ because I have written about 10000 words of All Over Again Chapter 30, 7000 of First Steps Chapter 12 and even over 7000 words of Tears of Gold Chapter 5 lol. **

**But none of them are finished and so this is a "Taster" Chapter, with a snippet of each of all three, plus a Bonus Henry/MJ flashback that doesn't fit into the First Steps timeline but well, is quite cute. They'll be a mini-intro for each lol and well for once, feel free to NOT review because these are only tasters. Of course if you WANT to I won't say no, but really it's not obligatory ^^**

**Oh but I will say, there is no James or Lily unfortunately in my preview of first steps, for the simple reason that that's the bit I haven't written yet sigh, so more Henry and MJ which may be disappointing to some people so I'm warning you now sigh. Ok? **

**Luv y'all! =)**

**So lets start with All Over Again: **

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All Over Again Chapter 30: Preview

They came and came for what seemed like hours, until she gave up trying to count them. Dark figures apparating in a swirl of hooded cloaks and white masks. A few moved forward to the front of the circle. Most hung back, content to create a black, murmuring sea around the small island of grass where she stood, flanked by the two louts from the pub.

Their huge hands grasped her arms painfully tight, the others holding wands to her neck and heart. If she moved she was dead. Even wandless magic could not help her. The panic rose in her chest, she threw it aside contemptuously: she would not let him see it; and forced her lips to twist upwards into the smirk she had made famous.

Riddle stood, poised and very much at ease on the opposite side of the circle. God, what had the years done to him? The face even she had once acknowledged to be nothing short of beautiful was now a white, faintly glowing mask. The red-tinge to his eyes that had all those years ago confused her, now had taken over completely. Rimmed in scarlet, those black pupils sparkled as malevolently as ever, the mocking smile lilting on thin bloodless lips.

Moniqua shuddered; what had he done to warp himself so? What forbidden magic had taken his beauty and melted it like putty. He stepped forward, tall and still graceful, with his black robes pooling around his thin frame. His expression was almost pleasant, but the aura around him told the truth; she could feel the hatred oozing from him even at this distance. Hatred for her, the promised loathing that had never faded and would never be allowed to rest.

For a moment, a brief moment they were once more in the Potter library, fencing both of them behind fake smiles and subtle jibes; MJ smirked wide and wicked, and just as it had then, irritation flickered in those snake-like orbs. It was foolish, reckless, still she couldn't help but look him in the eye and crow, hoping he saw, hoping it drove him mad.

No, _attend deux seconds, _he'd already accomplished that himself.

The laugh crept up her throat, she let it loose and the rich, husky sound floated over the deserted moor. It seem to stun the assembled death-eaters. So many of them, there were now; at least fifty and still more came. Ignoring the sting of the wands, she tossed back her thick black hair, flipping it over her shoulder, lifting her chin and waiting.

Everything seemed so much more defined; was it because death truly was just round the corner. Was it the end? Her dark eyes flitted once more over the mass bodies, calculating, measuring, planning. It was a tide of enemies, impossible to beat and impossible to escape. But he didn't know all, and while that still was true hope was not extinct. She still had weapons up her sleeve, other than the silver mounted gun he was twisting lightly in his long white fingers. Following her gaze Riddle smiled and stepped again towards her.

"Who would have thought you would cherish my poor gifts so carefully." soft, mocking. MJ allowed her eyes to roll back in her head, knowing he would recognise the action. He did; those oddly flat nostrils nevertheless flared in dislike and again the smirk gleamed of it's own accord.

"I hoped one day to return it in kind." she forced her voice to remain light, almost friendly. It would irritate him all the more and if die she must she would do it as infuriatingly as possible.

Those long white digits caressed the metal as one might a lover. Pah! As if the man was capable of such a thing. She hated seeing it in his hands. It had served her well over the years, and time had dulled the memory that it had been intended as an insult, indeed the greatest insult one could bestow upon a pure-blood bride. Seeing him touch it made her feel ill, her stomach turning with disgust and anger and the deadliest poison of all;

Fear.

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**This is short but well a clip of one of my favourite scenes lol. ^^ And one of my favourite characters. Be nice to him XD**

First Steps Chapter 12 Preview:

"INCOMING….!"

Moniqua's head flashed up in panic as the high-pitched scream burst her eardrums.! Flipsy squealed in terror! A bullet shot from the skies towards them and Moniqua Monroe had been playing Quidditch for too many years not realise immediately the peril of a crash-landing from an out-of-control broomstick!

Instinct kicked in! Her wand lifted and the words every professional player had drilled into them sprung from her lips. The broom rocketed closer; she had just enough time to get a glimpse of a black t-shirt and a mischievous face laughing manically before the spell shot from her wand like a cork from a bottle, enveloping both rider and broom so that when they hit the ground at dangerous speed, instead of breaking every bone, the silver soap bubble bounced.

The broom handle smashed into the ground and buried itself in the mud. Its rider tumbled to the grass, rolling smoothly enough to indicate to experienced eyes that this was not the first time such a mishap had happened; the wicked grin that flashed as he spun said it would probably not be the last.

The bubble burst a moment later. The kid finally came to a halt, face to the sky, back to the grass, still chuckling. Moniqua picked up her skirts and made her way hurriedly towards him but before she could come any where close, the boy leapt to his feet, deftly and confidently, shaking a head of thick brown curls, peels of the most bright, brilliant laughter bubbling from his lips.

Moniqua couldn't help it; danger averted, her own sense of humour, mixed with the lingering adrenalin kicked in. She sank to her knees, ignoring the mud and grass that would surely stain her dress, and joined in the laughter, rich and husky.

It brought the boy's head up, tossing the shiny locks out of eyes that now sparkled with curiosity. They were big and unusually bright, and of that same striking hazel that she was now beginning to know so well.

For a moment he simply looked her up and down with a child's candour, head tilted to the side rather like a small bird. Then he skipped forward and, somewhat to her surprise, swept her a beautiful example of the classic pureblood bow, saying with exaggerated gallantry,

"Ethan Jacob Dreamer, at your service, Miss…"

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**This next bit is the opening of Tears of Gold chapter five. This means it's in Narcissa's thoughts, a sort of flashback to the events the story is recounting. Narcissa is remembering them, and Lucius do cannot forget, but it shows how much they need each other now, many years later,(it's September the first) and this is bringing back the memories of Narcissa's own first day and Hogwarts and how different things were between them.**

Tears Of Gold Chapter 5: Preview

_Lucius's fingers stop their caresses, pausing on the white of my arm in confusion as my thoughts are obviously elsewhere. My back is to him for once, the sheets thrown off after hours of love-making and the moon illuminates the curve of my shoulder, my waist and hip with a silver glow. But it is his beautiful body that shines fully in her light, just as his shadow covers most of my slim frame. Even lost as I am in our past, the present still makes me smiles in it's irony. _

_His voice is deep, sensual but the curiosity is there beneath the seeming unconcern. _

_Where are you Narcissa… He whispers it softly, not to me but to the moonlight. Then he pauses. _When _are you…? He _

_already knows, already hates, and the tell-tale shiver runs through my entire body. It is answer enough. _

_His hand falls away and our bed creeks as he puts as much distance between us as it will allow. But the gap cannot cut our bond, and the resentment and the guilt that in reality it serves to hide, I feel it as strongly as he feels my pain._

_The thought of that sacrifice he never had to make, it reminds me why our love endures and I turn and close the wide gulf between us. He does not react, not even when I rest my head on his broad shoulder and my hand against his heart. The past can never be forgotten nor forgiven, only put aside for another fiercer emotion, a need so powerful and binding that hate itself bowed before it. _

_I am yours. A whisper across his skin, one perhaps not loud enough to hear but of course he does. And the Dark Mark, the mark I detested so, twitches mockingly as his beautiful fingers clench. I tense, but although the naivety I possessed at the age of fifteen is long gone, my pride and stubbornness, the heirlooms of the House of Black, they will never fade. I do not let him go and three long moments later his hand relaxes, lifts and comes to tangles itself within the gold tresses of my hair._

_For a while all is still, and I wonder if he sleeps. Then his voice murmurs across the silence, soft, almost bitter, mostly musing._

_Mine, he lingers over the single syllable and pauses before continuing._

_Fool; you are my everything._

_My lips curl upwards. His eyes close and not too many minutes later the rise and fall of his muscled chest becomes both heavy and regular beneath my hand. Mine stay open, still lost in the memories we both hate and yet cannot escape._

_Naïve. Merlin, yes I was that. So much so I almost laugh. Innocent as a babe and foolish enough to dream that I could stay one a little longer. _

_Naïve enough to ignore the consequences of the vow I had unknowingly made. The first of three; Three vows that would determine my life like the rudder of a ship, dictating it as much as my accursed beauty. The beauty that I alone, the Vain One, Vanity, could never bring myself to admire._

_Naïve enough to think that there was still hope, still a chance at the freedom I longed for so desperately. _

_That summer I was docile as a lamb, pleasing my father and even winning a reluctant approval from my Aunt. Only Bella knew me better, knew me well enough to mistrust this angelic front, and I think she worried for me even more. Worried at what foolishness my childish mind would concoct. In this she was not selfish; she knew the man I was to marry and feared, wisely as it turned out, for me. _

_But I was young and stubborn, and however many times she pressed me, I would not yield my plans to her. If I had… I sigh, and close my eyes with a rueful smile. With the word "if", we could move mountains. _

_Lucius shifts in his sleep, and without thinking my hand makes a soothing circle on his bare chest, lulling him to slumber once more. He will always have trouble sleeping; too many nightmares, too many of them true, but in my arms the worst are usually held at bay. And as his muscles relax once more, my mind wanders back to the day we truly met, face to face, name to name. A September the first much like this one. A beginning and an end._

_The beginning of a lifetime._

_The end of innocence._

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**Well, finally we have the bonus scene that I promised you, and it's taking us back to Moniqua's first day at Hogwarts. In one of the flashbacks we see the first time the pair actually meet, in Dumbledore's study you may remember. This is set the very next day and you might call this their REAL meeting lol. The first time they interact, get a glimpse of each other's characters and how they may or may not conform to the firsts impressions. I like it because it shows Henry much younger and not quite as unflappable as he always comes across. This is his first meeting with the real Moniqua Monroe. It's not one he'll be forgetting any time soon ;) Remember MJ has only just arrived in England so her English, though very good, has a much stronger accent. She'll lose it almost completely as time goes on, except of course when a certain man makes her lose her temper ^^**

First Steps: Bonus Scene 

_"Euh, 'cuse me…"_

_Henry's quill paused on the parchment of his Arithmacy essay. In that single instant before lifting his gaze to the intruders, he had already deduced who his accoster was, what she would claim to want, what she would in reality want and at least five different ways to politely refuse to gratify her with either his time or his attentions.._

_The newest addition to the Hogwarts student body slipped into the seat opposite him with a bright smile and a toss of very thick, very shiny black hair. Henry's face was unreadable; he waited in indifferent silence for her to either flush uncomfortably under his unfeeling stare, or hurry up and state her business. Not that he didn't know what it would be._

_To his slight surprise she did neither of these things, instead looking around the secluded corner of the Library that invariably enjoyed his patronage with a cheerfully appraising expression._

_" 'Eet eez a nice place, z'is. No people to crowd and bo'zer. I like eet."_

_Henry was momentarily taken aback, then his brow raised in that sardonic expression that could always be depended upon to depress pretension. _

_"I general, I would agree with you whole-heartedly."_

_Irony laced the outwardly bland comment but so subtly even a teacher would probably have missed it. Certainly a foreigner with only a limited command of the English tongue wouldn't have picked up on that faint undercurrent of sarcasm. And again never a celebrity airhead. _

_The girl in question stilled in her chair and then turned back towards him, eyes narrowed. They were dark eyes, so dark in fact he half-thought they might be a true black. What was sure was that they were usually luminous and unexpectedly deep and knowing. He registered a faint flicker of surprise. Maybe there was more to this child-star princess than he had originally assumed. Her next words convinced him of it._

_"I must apologize for invading yourrrrr sanctuary? But I only play ze Quidditch; I cannot be expected to know such z'ings." _

_She smiled with dulcet sweetness, but the challenge behind those innocently fluttered lashes took him rather aback. His brows creased ever so slightly, a rare expression of irritation from him and those distractingly white teeth gleamed in triumph._

_He recovered barely a second later._

_"I had assumed playing on a team with six males would have taught you much about the necessity of privacy. Strange how one can be mistaken."_

_Her jaw clenched a little, and those black black eyes flashed. She replied with a tight smile,_

_"_I _had assumed English gentlemen to be…_ben, _gentlemanly. It seems we both are doomed to commit zee mistakes."_

_"Perhaps only ladylike behaviour inspires one's gentlemanly instincts." he cut back._

_It was ridiculous. His voice of reason was wondering what on earth was wrong with him, bandying words with a conceited French miss. But she had nettled him. So much so that at her next words, he actually lowered himself to scowling at her._

_The smile returned in force, glittering wickedly,_

_"Show me z'en a man, and I weell endeavour to induce him to be gentle."_

_Henry was completely thrown, torn between revulsion and…shock. This…this little hussy, was actually provoking him with innuendos…in his own language. Outrage left him dumb, he could only scowl at her in a manner that did in no way become the heir to the illustrious House of Potter, but he couldn't…didn't know how to respond. Furious at having been effectively beaten in word play by this chit of a girl, Henry pulled himself together and allowed his lip to curl unpleasantly_

_"Amusing as this manner of conversation is, I sadly have a Potions lesson I must attend." he said with cold dignity. _

_His nostrils flared in dislike as he gracefully collected up his things and began to replace into their respective compartments in his briefcase. The girl merely beamed with unimpaired cheerfulness._

_"But yes! Z'at is why I came, _bien sûr_!" she fluttered those long lashes at him, "I must find one to show me z'e way! _On m'a dit dans les _"dungeons", but what I ask myself is z'is word? You will explain it to me _en route!" she decided.

_Henry froze, wand in hand ready to perform the shrinking charm that would diminish the size if the dragon-skin case to roughly the dimensions of a ring-box._

_"I beg your pardon?"_

_Her head nodded brightly,_

_"But yes, it is the first lesson of this after-midday, no? Potions, in z'e _Bah! _I cannot say z'e word, in z'e DUN-GEE-ONS."_

_A chill stole over Henry's entire body and he asked with inward dread, _

_"Which house…did the hat put you in…?"_

_Her dazzling smile almost dragged a groan from his chest._

_"_Ben, _Gryffindor! _Evidement! _Eet will be very amusing I z'ink_!"

_Henry muttered a word that someone of his birth and upbringing should not even know._

_End Flashback_

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**ET VOILA! =) as I said, not what all of you wanted I know but bear with me, my dad's birthday is the same day, my sister's is the 28****th****, Mothers day in France is the 29****th****, my Mum's BIRTHDAY is the 30****th**** and to top it all of I'm knee-deep in exams so…sorry… =S I hope that this shows that I'm thinking of you guys and haven't forgotten ok? **

**As I said before, don't feel obliged to review but if you want to I'll grin like a hyena =)**

**LUV YA!**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x **


	13. Chapter 13

**Woooah. Ok well, heya guys! I couldn't quite believe it when I saw that I hadn't updated First Steps since May. MAY! That ridiculous! And terrible and treacherous and hundreds of other pejorative terms and as always I am INSANELY sorry =S **

**This chapter is quite slow unfortunately, in the sense it's the same day as the last one and we've only progressed a few hours. BUT there is a lot of stuff in there, as well as finally meeting Henry's brother for the first time with was quite fun. Again, this chapter is only half of the originally planned chapter but by the time I finished this half I was already past 13000 words AND I really wanted to talk to you guys a little as well. I almost considered updating with just an authors note but that always seems like such a let down so I waited until THIS was ready so I could talk about AOA and updates.**

**I am going to TRY to update for Christmas Day, (God help me lol ^^) That is the plan and I am going to do everything humanely possible to stick to it. I am also going to try to put up the next chapter of First Steps AKA the Quidditch Match, though this will obviously be less of a priority than AOA. So that's the plan, lets hope I do better with this one than I do normally ^^'**

**Right, that was the AN note, now a little about this chapter. Well, as I said, there's a lot of info in this chapter, mainly one BIG scoop that I'm wondering how many people will pick up on. It's one word only lol so it's very easy to miss. **

**Another thing to note is that this is a very Moniqua focused chapter again, with very little insight into Henry's thoughts and emotions, apart from the very first paragraph. This is mainly because after the emotional shock of the last chapter, Henry's mind has kinda gone into lockdown and he's letting nothing show. The first paragraph is just a tantalizing glimpse ;)**

**There's a flashback in this chapter too, though not one you're probably expecting but that actually quite liked lol and also lets slip quite a few hints for other stories ^^**

**Anyway so there it is, I shall leave you to read in peace. I hope you enjoy and I will now get back to working on the other 25000 words I need to upload in two weeks lol **

**Luv y'all lots and of course HAPPY HOLIDAYS! =D**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x x x x x**

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_"I…hate…you!"_

Three words…

Three words, echoing in his ears, thumping brutally to the same rhythm as his heart that still pounded erratically in his chest.

Three words. Why did they…hurt? Pain. Anger. Hurt? It made no sense. The urge to throw something against the wall. Curse. Scream. Slip away into the darkest depths of muggle London and hunt down one of the lowlifes that crept and leered like rats in the night, simply for the pleasure of killing them. The yearning to clasp Monroe's throat and crush it under his white fingers. The need to run his hands over every inch of her body and bruise it, caress it, mark it as his. So many emotions, ravaging his mind, twisting his logic and his reason, aching in his fingertips and his chest. What had she done? What were these feelings, these compulsions and burning resentment? How was she controlling him so? With three words…

Three words; a truth he'd always known; so small a thing to tear something in him to pieces.

_Why…?_

At two-fifty-nine, Moniqua finally bowed her head and accepted that he was not going to say goodbye.

Disappointment flooded her face, turning the black pools cold and glassy, tightening her throat and clenching her fingers forcefully around her purse. Powder-blue silk, pressed into diamond shaped padding, to match the smart but severely cut walking gown, worn under a navy coat that reached down to her calves. A matching hat, dark blue with a paler feather curling down to frame her cheek and pretty kitten heels completed the toilette that she had spent so long appraising anxiously in the mirror.

She would have given much to ask Henry's opinion on what he considered suitable for tea with his mother; as it was… Moniqua sighed dolefully, before straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin to a stubborn tilt. _Bah! _She was Moniqua Monroe was she not! As if she would sulk and sigh over a stupid _Roz-beef! _Never!

Her dark eyes kindled militantly, throwing a look of loathing towards her flatmate's newly repaired door. _Pah! _Never! She repeated silently under her breath, before turning to the elf waiting patiently beside her, with a grim smile.

"So. I am ready, I think. Thank you once more, Flipsy, you are, how do the English put it? A saver-of-lives?"

Flipsy's eyes crinkled in mirth and her bat-like ears flapped enthusiastically.

" A life-saver Miss, yes t'is, but Flipsy is not a life-saver! Flipsy is happy to be of service!" she nodded vigorously , as though to stress her point, beaming up at the woman and holding out her greenish hand.

Moniqua sighed, shot one last glance towards the stubbornly silent door, and clasped the little fingers.

There was a huge CRACK, the world spun before her eyes rather alarmingly and then a moment later the chill of fresh spring air on her cheeks made her blink them open. Instinctively she stared about her, mouth falling open slightly in awe as she found herself standing in the middle of a little country village straight out of a muggle fairy tale.

Rows of squat, funny-looking cottages lined each side of the cheery street, set well apart so that each one was surrounded by its own perfectly tended garden. White picket-fences, kissing gates and roses creeping up the white plaster; thatch covered every roof and every hedge was lush and green and neat as a new pin. It was so quaint, so friendly and so incredibly English that a smile crept over Moniqua's face quite unconsciously.

The village's name was written in bright, shining gold a little up ahead but Flipsy, already impatient of her frank curiosity tugged on her hand and pointed in the opposite direction.

"T'is just down here Miss. Come, come, Miss must not be late for Mistress Dreamer!"

Moniqua allowed herself to be dragged away, but her head still twisted back and forth in a last-ditch attempt to stare a little longer. A child's laugh made her stop entirely, pausing in the middle of the street. Two children came skipping out of the cottage nearest, their giggle high and bright and joyful, a little boy struggling to keep up with his older sister as they ran from the house across the front lawn to pair of red and blue swings.

The girl leapt on to the red one and quickly pulled herself up so that instead of sitting she was standing on the little platform.

"Look Matt! Look what I can do!"

Her brother clambered onto the other swing, his backside firmly on the seat and both chubby hands clinging tightly to the chain. He looked up at his sister, now swinging in earnest, obviously torn between envy and dismay

"You're not SUPPOSED to Lee-lee!"

"Pooh!"

"I'll tell mum!"

A ringing peel of laughter was the girl's only response.

For a moment time seemed to stop and catch its breath.

Moniqua felt she could have watched them forever. She couldn't quite say way; she'd never been one of those people of doted on children; growing up with a huge family had cured her of any early broodiness. But as the girl soared higher, brown curls dancing with her bell-like laughter, and the boy pushed his little legs in a valiant attempt to catch up, something seemed to move slightly within. Small, barely a flicker, just like someone had grazed her shoulder in passing on the street, or had brushed past her in a crowd. She stared, not really watching but somehow still seeing, almost as though in a trance until suddenly a sharp tug on her sleeve pulled her away from a future she'd never dreamed of wanting and turned back to the house-elf hopping from one foot to the other in her impatience;

"Late, late, LATE we is, Miss! HURRY we must!"

Moniqua bit her lip contritely and started up down the little street once more, her head bent in contrition and Flipsy huffed forbiddingly beside her. Then barely a minutes walk later, the elf squealed in delight and announced proudly

"And here we is!"

And there they were. Moniqua looked up at the house, taking in every detail eagerly. She had spent whole nights trying to picture a building that a woman so majestic and queenly a woman as Mistress Dreamer née Black would live. Turrets, moats and Taj Mahal style palaces had all crossed her mind at some point, but the house before her now was as far away from those fanciful imaginings as could be.

It was a cottage, far larger than most they had passed that day yet still sporting the thatched roof, timber window frames and bright plaster walls. The gardens looked to be much much bigger however, so that huge, graceful trees partly obscured the view of the house from the road and ten-foot tall hedges seemed to capture small pieces of the grounds into separate gardens. On the far left an archway cut into the green, leafy wall, white can, entangled in a winding rosebush with flowers the colour of rubies. A delicate ornamental fountain sprayed up prettily from what looked like a small lake on the right side of a crazy paving path teetered and rolled its way to the front door. The rest was lush green lawn, with colourful flowerbeds circling the house and resting in the shade below the trees.

Flipsy smiled at her open-mouthed wonder and opened the kissing gate politely.

"Welcome Miss, to the Potter Dowager House."

Moniqua took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and stepped purposely past Flipsy and into the painting.

As soon as she was through Flipsy grabbed her hand and once more began pulling her towards the house.

"We is ALMOST late, Miss but not quite, not quite…"

"INCOMING….!"

Moniqua's head flashed up in panic as the high-pitched scream burst her eardrums.! Flipsy squealed in terror! A bullet shot from the blues skies towards them and Moniqua Monroe had been playing Quidditch for too many years not realise immediately the peril of a crash-landing from an out-of-control broomstick!

Instinct kicked in! Her wand lifted and the words every professional player had drilled into them sprung from her lips. The broom rocketed closer; she had just enough time to get a glimpse of a black t-shirt and a mischievous face laughing manically before the spell shot from her wand like a cork from a bottle, enveloping both rider and broom so that when they hit the ground at dangerous speed, instead of breaking every bone, the silver soap bubble bounced.

The broom handle smashed into the ground and buried itself in the mud, narrowly avoiding the pond. The bubble burst a moment later. Its rider tumbled to the grass, rolling smoothly enough to indicate to experienced eyes that this was not the first time such a mishap had happened; the puck-like grin that flashed as he spun hinted that it would probably not be the last.

The kid finally came to a halt, face to the sky, back to the grass, still chuckling. Moniqua picked up her skirts and ran across the lawn hurriedly towards him but before she could come anywhere close, the boy leapt to his feet, deftly and confidently, shaking a head of thick brown curls, peels of the most glorious, gayest laughter bubbling from his lips.

Moniqua couldn't help it; danger averted, her own sense of humour, mixed with the lingering adrenalin, kicked in. She sank to her knees, ignoring the grass that would surely stain her dress, and joined in the laughter, the sound rich and husky.

It brought the boy's head up, tossing the shiny locks out of eyes that now sparkled with curiosity. They were big and brilliant, and of that same striking hazel that she was now beginning to know so well.

For a moment he simply looked her up and down with a child's candour, head tilted to the side rather like a small bird. Then he skipped forward and, somewhat to her surprise, swept her a beautiful example of the classic pureblood bow, saying with exaggerated gallantry,

"Ethan Jacob Dreamer, at your service, Miss!"

The boy's head lifted a moment later, showing one of the most engaging smiles she'd ever seen. Dimples played hide and seek in both corners of his mouth and the front tooth was just slightly crooked, turning the smile into something at once appealing and decidedly mischievous. The grin of a brat secure in the knowledge that every stranger he meets will like him because every stranger he's ever met always has liked him, so why on earth would this one be any different.

Moniqua's lips tugged upwards, unable to do anything else but smile back; the dimples were too irresistible to be denied. His eyes sparkled in approval and as she opened her mouth to introduce herself, he leaned forward eagerly,

"And you're Moniqua Monroe!" she paused, a little bemused but nodded. The boy punched the air triumphantly

"I knew it! I watched you play at the word cup! I wanted to come to the party and meet you but Riri said he'd be _damned _first! So I said that NEXT World Cup I would send you a letter myself and get you to invite me so THAT way Riri would have nothing say about it would he? You played BRILLIANTLY! Though you _did _lose me ten galleons…"

The cheerful babble was abruptly broken off and the boy, Ethan, was suddenly frowning at her, as though undecided whether this crime was forgivable. Moniqua stared, lost but absolutely fascinated, she asked in wide-eyed enjoyment,

"By winning?"

Ethan shook his head and to her shock, rolled his eyes with a very familiar scorn.

"No! Kit lost THAT bet to me, because I KNEW you would win! But you," he broke off suddenly, " You won't be offended miss, will you.?" the smile gleamed hopefully suddenly once more and, dazzled, Moniqua could only shake her head in laughter. He carried on blithely,

"BEFORE, I didn't think girls COULD play Quidditch." Moniqua blinked, "But KATE said that the best Quidditch player in the world was a girl and that she'd prove it!- she's a bookworm and thinks she knows better than everyone- she showed me a poster of you and told me how you won your first League match at only eleven and how you were Captain of France at only fourteen and you won THAT World Cup too! And so I had to give her the money because we bet that boys ALWAYS play better than girls and well you stopped it from being true because she said that one exception disproves a rule or something know-it-all-ish like that, and I said that's why she won't admit to wanting to go out with me because she LIKES being the exception and when I said THAT…" he paused for breath, and beamed,

"She slapped me." he finished happily.

It was too much. Moniqua burst into peels of laughter and doubled over clutching her sides helplessly. Ethan observed these hysterics quite without rancour, and was busy waiting for his new friend to finish wiping her streaming eyes when suddenly a small figure appeared with a "CRACK" beside the pair.

Young Master Dreamer's face turned quite pale.

"Flipsy!"

If the boy's voice was slightly high from nerves, the wide smile was firmly brandished like a shield. The house-elf wasn't buying any of it.

"Master Ethan!" she pronounced in appalled accents. Her victim flashed his teeth valiantly, fear evident in every line of that expressive young face.

"Master Ethan is BAD!"

The house-elf's little features were contorted in fury and was turning darker green with rage by the second. Moniqua broke out into gales of fresh laughter while Ethan put his arms behind his back and managed to achieve an expression of sorrowful reproach.

"Flipsy! How can you say that?"

"Master Ethan is forbidden from flying in the Mistress's rose garden! Master Ethan is forbidden from taking out his broom without permission! Master Ethan has disobeyed his mother! Master Ethan is BAD!"

Moniqua blinked, cringing back instinctively from this tirade but the Master Ethan in question merely hung his curly head.

"I'm very sorry Flipsy."

"Master Ethan is a BAD BOY!"

"He is, he is." It was said in such mournful tones that Moniqua had to bite her lip desperately to stop herself from giggling again. Unfortunately it was NOT funny. The house-elf's tennis-ball eyes snapped and narrowed dangerously.

"You is a CHEEKY bad boy!"

Brown curls lifted and the dimples danced.

"But you love me anyway, right Flipsy."

Flipsy's eyes fairly bugged out from her head. Ethan grinned in victory and, without warning, suddenly lunged forward and threw his arms around the fiercely protesting elf.

"MASTER ETHAN! Unhand Flipsy immediately! House-elfs is NOT to be hugged!"

The boy laughed merrily and squeezed tighter.

"Say it Flipsy!"

"What would Mother Mipsy say if she is seeing!"

"Mipsy's at the Manor and will never know!" He pointed out cheekily. The elf screeched as he lifted her high above his head and spun them both wildly around. Flipsy shrieks echoed around the pretty garden until finally the young Master came to a stop, opening his eyes as wide as they would go, bottom lip pouting in adorable appeal,

"BAD MASTER ETHAN!"

"Come on Flipsy, come back and look after us! I miss your scoldings! And you KNOW you like scolding me better than Riri!"

Flipsy folded her arms with great dignity considering her legs were still dangling in the air a foot from the ground and sniffed,

"Master Henry is not needing scolding. Master Henry is a GOOD boy, he is!"

Ethan scoffed and placed the disgruntled elf back on the ground, eyes sparkling mischievously,

"Flipsy, I thought you always say one mustn't lie to a lady!"

The boy spun round to grin at Moniqua, who had been watching the affectionate scene in bemusement, and pronounced funnily,

"Riri is a right one. He's always up for a lark!" he added with fraternal pride, " And he NEVER moralizes or reads one a lecture. "

Moniqua smiled back but inside her head was reeling. The expression "up for a lark" was not one she knew but it seemed this impish young boy was declaring his older brother to be, if not approving at least amused by his more illicit exploits. She suddenly remembered the scene in the kitchen, where Flipsy had rebuked her companion for exactly that; laughing at Ethan's misdemeanours. But it was still odd, slightly unreal to imagine Henry so.

Suddenly the young boy's eager tones broke into her thoughts once more.

"Say! I've just had a brilliant notion! YOU could invite me to League Final this year!"

"I…"

"I was going to beg Riri to take me but he would probably say no but if YOU as CAPTAIN ask me to come it's a formal invitation! And it would be RUDE to refuse wouldn't it!"

"Well, I suppose…"

"YES! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!"

Flipsy's chest suddenly swelled like a balloon and she brandished her bony finger up towards the scamp's grinning face.

"Master ETHAN, you will NOT BADGER MISS….!"

But he was already away, scampering as fast as his legs could carry him, grabbing his broom in passing and sprinting towards the beautiful glass doors. As he reached them he paused, eyes dancing like stars as he threw a wink at Moniqua.

"Don't forget the ticket!"

Then before Flipsy could draw in another huge breath, he was gone, slipping into the house and leaving only his merry laughter echoing his wake.

* * *

Moniqua turned back to the outraged elf, carefully assuming an expression of gravity. Flipsy was fully engrossed in ranting and raving over the young Master's cheek and impudence, so it was almost a full minute later that her small head suddenly shot up, tennis-ball eyes even rounded than usual in horror.

"Miss IS late! Flipsy is a bad bad elf, she should not be wasting Miss' time!"

"But no, _je t'assure_…"

"Come, come!" The elf would have none of it. She shook her head furiously, grabbed Moniqua's hand and dragged her inexorably towards the archway of roses. Moniqua barely had time to glance up at the beautiful red blooms before she was pulled through. Then a burst of colour exploded before her eyes and she gasped in sheer wonder.

The garden was filled with perfect blooms of every colour under the sun. White roses, yellow roses, darks pinks and soft blushes, deeps crimsons and palest of primrose. They curled and twisted around a circular space a little bigger than her own bedchamber. A bright white marble trough curved into the form of a sun and it's rays. Tiny fountains bust and gurgled at each point and the water gleamed crystal clear and fresh .

Flipsy bowed till her pointed nose touched the floor and then disappeared with a crack, presumably to warn the Mistress of the House of their arrival. Moniqua started but a moment later the beauty of the little paradise had already ensnared her anew. She stepped hesitantly closer, her breath stolen away as she stared at the very centre of the water feature, where sitting in a circle of rich brown earth, one last rose bush, barely taller than a house-elf, reigned supreme over the entire garden.

Five perfect blooms stood out from the green leaves, their petals a deep velvety black.

Moniqua was barely aware of her fingers creeping out to touch the wonder, when a voice, soft but clear and sharp as the keenest of blades made her wrench them back with a look of embarrassment towards the figure standing like a ghost under a second archway.

"Beautiful…are they not?"

After a pause during which Moniqua made no answer, Dorea Persephone Dreamer, née Black glided forward so smoothly she might have been walking on air. She halted by her young guest's side, magnificent eyes fixed impassively on the roses, each dark as starbursts of night.

"They are "_Roses Sangoires"_ She reached out and, with the tip of one white finger, caressed the velvet petal. The contrast was sharp as day and night.

Moniqua swallowed, dredging up a drop of saliva; her mouth was suddenly dry.

"I have not heard the name."

"Nor should you."

Moniqua risked a glance at the other woman's face and shivered. The features were lovely beyond reason, Moniqua still had difficulty accepting that such perfection could exist. But a lifetime of hardship and bitterness had turned that beauty into something hard, cold and terrifying. Stark against the white of her skin, Henry's eyes stood out from his mother's face, golden pools of icy rage that would never cool. Black rage.

For a moment Moniqua fought the urge to cringe away, to escape those terrible eyes and run, far far away from the roses and the misery that suddenly felt so heavy in this sad, silent little garden. Then, just like that, Madame Dreamer turned her glorious head away, releasing her prisoner and staring thoughtfully at the black roses once more. Moniqua breathed out.

"The legend is one known now only to those families whose history it recounts. Two families in fact, both of the Wizarding Elite, able to trace their Pureblood lineage back at least five centuries. Only while one was old and respected, the other was even more so; ancient, one of the Seven.»

Mistress Dreamer's lips curved ever so faintly upwards.

"My family."

Moniqua's eyes widened. Dorea sent her a wry look at from her great height before turning back to the rose bush.

"Yes, the House of Black, arguably the richest and most powerful line. Certainly the proudest. Yet there were magics that even they could not possess, namely those few particular gifts that ran by blood."

"One such gift belonged to the Rosier line. Something that only the greatest could achieve; wordless and wandless magic. Only one spell, but any Rosier child could perform if taught. The ability to conjure a single rose with nothing, not a word, not a gesture; only one's will. And to vanish it at easily."

Dorea sighed, one hand sweeping out to stroke a black petal.

"It was such a simple magic." she said softly, "Not powerful, or dangerous or even particularly useful." she shrugged, "Just a little thing, one that even the lowest ranking wizard could produce with a wand. The Rosiers have always been lovers and love-maker's by nature and the Rose Touch, as it came to be known, was one of their favourite charms. In truth it was nothing more that that, a silly parlour trick to impress reluctant maids. Who could have imagined it could inspire such envy."

The afternoon sun seemed to cast a glow about the woman, bathing her in golden radiance so that Moniqua found herself wincing at the brightness.

"But the Black Elders hypothesized that magic in such a pure form could be harnessed to any purpose. If a rose, why not a light, a fire or any other spell. Thus, endless possibilities seemed to open to them and filled with greed, they sent envoys to the Rosiers, offering them tremendous riches in return for the secret of the rose touch. The Rosiers demanded instead the one thing they desired above all; an alliance with the most ancient of lines."

Moniqua watched, silent and solemn as her hostess' face hardened fleetingly into an expression of contempt. The bitterness was so tangible, so heavy and cloying in seemed to stick to the skin like cold sweat and make one shudder. Recalling Henry's tale of his mother, Moniqua could guess as to the reason why.

"They offered as a bride a young woman of their line, saying simply that the gift ran by blood. The Blacks took this to mean that any child of the girl would have the Rose Touch. They agreed without hesitation and quickly married their most promising heir to the Rosier bride before the month was out."

"For some years the couple enjoyed what peace they could with the Black elders breathing down their necks in hope of a child from their union. Only the bride herself was less than eager. But the day soon came that she fell pregnant and the child followed into the word soon after. The House of Black held a Ball, greater than any Ball before it, publicly proclaiming the eternal alliance between the two families and the Rosiers gained a status almost equal to one of the seven themselves."

"Again all was well for some years, until the child, a little girl by the name of Kleeia came of the age to use magic. Her first magical demonstration was met with another huge celebration and the Elders of the family demanded that the child be taught the Rose Touch as was due."

The words had grown softer and softer, so that when Mistress Dreamer now paused, the last syllables were almost blown away on the sigh that was expelled, heavy and hating from her lips. Moniqua waited, somehow already filled with dread though not knowing yet how something could have gone wrong in the tale. Only that it had, and the consequences had been felt for decades since, were still being felt today.

Dorea's hand, halted its gentle caress on the black petal and slid her fingers down the stem to rest lightly against one of the largest thorns.

"She could not."

Moniqua let out something between a breath and gasp as the glorious woman beside her suddenly pressed her index and thumb together, driving the thorn deep into the soft white flesh. A thin trickle of scarlet ran down her hand, pooling at the wrist before dripping slowly into the fountain below. Moniqua watched the blood run, her face pale and stricken.

"They tried every way that occurred to their greedy, twisted minds. But finally they had to accept the truth; Kleeia did not have the Rose Touch. Under torture, the Rosier bride confessed that the Touch could only be passed down the male line. Females of Rosier blood could posses the gift but not transmit it to their offspring. The Rosiers had known this from the start but the temptation of an alliance with one of the Seven had spurred them to madness. Rather than admit that there was no way for the magic to leave the Family name, they had knowingly lied and sent a bride incapable of producing children with the Touch. Treachery it was, and had always been. And the House of Black ignited into furious, devastating rage."

Moniqua swallowed, vaguely realising that her hands were trembling despite the warm afternoon sun. Dorea's teeth were bared in anger, her eyes once more filled with that terrible murderous rage that was the Black heritage.

"The Head of the House of Black himself conjured a rose bush in the very centre of the gardens, before chaining both his wife and daughter naked to its branches, so that the thorns tore into their backs and ripped through their skin until there was no more blood to flow. " she said in a voice as empty as the grave.

Moniqua pressed her lids closed as though to shut out the horror. But she could not stop now, she had to hear the tale to the end, as thought in some illogical way it could make some pitiful amends to these poor victims of family greed.

"Six nights they were left there, bleeding and broken, until finally the Rosier Family got wind of what had occurred and the abomination their own greed had wrought. Struck with remorse, the elders wove a magic from afar, a great magic to bring relief to their own that they had so betrayed, in the only way they could. »

Vaguely Moniqua was aware of the other woman drawing back her hand from the bush and staring at the wound with an expression as cold as her voice.

"The morning of the seventh day, the sun rose to fall upon the rose bush. Woman and child were gone. Instead the buds that had been forming all over it were open and blooming…."

"Every rose was as Black as the hearts of the Family that stood around it."

As Dorea's voice became softer once more, Moniqua raised her head to stare at the roses, each one as deep a midnight as those in the tale. Her hostess suddenly sighed, and the heavy crackling cloud of tension that had been almost suffocating the tiny garden, burst with a rush of relief. The woman's face was lovely once more, her weariness and a terrible grief showed through and lending somehow an even greater beauty.

"By becoming one with the tree they were spared any further suffering. But from that day the roses on that bush are still black as coal and no power on this earth, magic or otherwise has ever managed to remove it. Always it returns, as though in reminder of the horror that occurred at that spot and in that House. An eternal stain on the Family honour, as indeed in should be."

"But then how…" Moniqua broke off, biting her lip to stop the question escaping. But the lady beside her had already understood. She turned her cynical eyes upon the girl, her face staggeringly lovely despite even the cold contempt and answered the unfinished question with a faint smile.

"How it comes to be here?" for a moment Dorea Persephone Dreamer seemed to slip into the past, a strange bitter nostalgia curved her lips further upwards.

"The eve before my wedding day I stole into the garden and clipped a single bloom. It is forbidden to enter that grove but my despair was such…" she trailed off before continuing in a voice that was once more hard and emotionless.

"I pinned it to my wedding dress for all to see. Most did not know the signification, but those who did, cowards that they were, they looked away. The truth was too unpalatable for them to face…"

The smirk was twisted, Moniqua felt a sliver of fear as twenty-five years of anger and betrayal seemed to fill up the little garden until she was all but drowning in the bitterness. Then all at once, it was gone. The air seemed to clear as if by magic as Mistress Dreamer suddenly shook her chestnut curls and broke the spell.

"Charlus would not have the flower up at the manor but I kept it, and after his death I planted it here and it has accepted to grow. The name of course is a _mélange _of Black and Blood, fitting would you not say?" Moniqua nodded dumbly, "Once upon a time I viewed them as a promise, a vow to never allow my son to be sold as I was, simply to fatten two family's coffers. Now…."

Her perfect shoulders lifted and fell in a delicate shrug and for the first her eyes warmed just a touch, as she turned to look at the young woman with a serious expression.

"Now I find them merely beautiful. And sad. But my vow holds still at that, Miss Monroe is why I have asked for you today."

Moniqua shook herself out of her reverie and sunk into a deeply respectful curtsey.

"You do me much honour Madame, by inviting me to your home."

Dorea gave a slight smile, similar to the one that sometimes just touched her son's lips, but she made no reply, instead simply turning gracefully on her heel and indicating with a wave of her hand for her guest to follow her through the archway out of the Rose Garden.

They walked through another, larger grove with a paving stone path slipping snake-like through a lush green lawn and trees shadowing overhead. Flowers of all colours waved cheerily from the beds, filling the garden with the humming of bees and the tiny chattering sound that could only be fairies. It was another little paradise and Moniqua felt a tiny stab of longing as she though of how her mother would have adored all the summer blossoms in full bloom.

But Mistress Dreamer was waving her forwards once more and as they turned a corner, the house finally came into view. As from the road, honeysuckle climbed up the white walls, the windows were gay and bright and tall. It was undoubtedly the prettiest house Moniqua had ever seen and jus t looking at it brought a glow of warmth to her face. It must have shown. Dorea smiled with a hint of approval and led her to the door.

"Come."

* * *

Some five minutes later both woman were seated in an elegant sitting room, sipping tea from dainty china tea-cups decorated with gold and accompanied by sugar biscuits in the form of flowers. Moniqua nibbled one just a little nervously glancing about her in what she hoped wasn't too obvious a manner, her curiosity battling with her good-breeding.

The room was dressed with beautiful taste, in warm inviting shades of cream and chocolate, with touches of gold placed skilfully here and there to catch the sunlight streaming through the huge bay window. Cushions soft as clouds, different textures of silk and velvet and the lightest of Muslim under drapes all complemented each other and gave an overwhelming impression of feminine elegance. It was as breathtaking as its mistress and it completed her like petals encasing the heart of a flower.

Said Mistress gently placed her tea-cup on the glass-topped coffee table and abruptly broke the slightly uneasy silence with a question equally as uncomfortable.

"How long have you loved my son?"

Moniqua choked on her tea, wiping her mouth hastily with a napkin to remove the splatters.

"Madame?"

Dorea rolled her eyes suddenly in a manner that was unpleasantly familiar.

"Do not I beg you, lower my opinion of you by acting the fool." she said dryly, "You do not yet lie well enough, not to fool one as skilled in the arts of deception as I, at any rate."

Moniqua lifted her chin, her famous temper sparking visibly.

"I would have not attempted it." she flared, "I was merely…surprised."

Mistress Dreamer's face relaxed into an only slightly condescending smile.

"My son is an undisputed genius. Sadly his omniscience does not extend to the study of human emotions. In such things, he is quite remarkably obtuse…"

Extraordinarily white teeth flashed for the first time in something that could have almost been a grin.

"I am not."

Moniqua suddenly became extremely interested in her hands, splaying her fingers as though to admire the polished manicure.

Dorea let her a few moments of cowardice before finally clearing her throat in a delicate little cough. The young girl's teeth audibly ground but she lifted her head and glared defiantly back, only the slight flush of her cheeks betraying her embarrassment. It was an oddly endearing gesture, and the tiny flicker of amusement it drew from her caught Dorea by surprise. Her head tilted to the side, thoughtfully observing her guest, the smallest of smiles just tilting her mouth.

"I do not mean to mock you child." she said eventually with a little shrug, "I am merely curious. Henry is not an easy person to love, and when the news came to my ears I could not believe it possible."

Again Moniqua eyes flashed magnificently,

"You do heem a grave injustice then! 'Ow? 'Ow can you say such z'ings? You are 'eez _mozer efin!"_

Dorea didn't each flick an eyelid as the young woman before her leapt to her feet, hands clenched into two admirable fists by her sides.

"_MERDE! _It is no wonder he is so alone! You, the closest family 'ee 'as, you do not even…!"

"I love him more than my own life, Miss Monroe." Mistress Dreamer interrupted coolly, her posture rigidly straight and her expression as haughty as a goddess. Twin fires in her golden-brown eyes pinned Moniqua to the floor, and drained all the anger out of her. She swallowed, realising vaguely that her hands were still trembling. The force of her reaction took even herself by surprise, and she looked somewhat bemused as she said eventually,

"Forgive me, Madame. I had absolutely no right to address you so."

"Indeed not." the two words were cold as ice.

For a few long moments a tense silence reigned. Then suddenly the elder woman let out a rueful laugh. Moniqua stared down at her completely bewildered and it only brought an even more intense expression of amusement to her lovely face.

"To be caught in my own net. How embarrassing. Please, sit down once more, Miss Monroe, for there really is much I would discuss with you, truthfully."

Moniqua hesitated, still disconcerted by this odd change of humour. Slowly she lowered herself into the chair once more, her hands clasped carefully in her lap, inwardly berating herself for losing control of her temper so. Mistress Dreamer copied the position, somehow managing to make it look five times more elegant, Moniqua noted with annoyance, and began again.

"You are an intelligent woman Miss Monroe, and therefore I am certain you have wondered why I did not denounce your charade that night of the ball."

Moniqua's gaze shot to her hostess' face, startled by this perceptive pronouncement.

"It is true," she said hesitatingly, "I did wonder, much. And after all you have told me Madame, I now wonder even more. Why would you, a woman sold yourself into a loveless marriage, wish that same fate upon your son? Having met you, it is not credible…"

She trailed off, worried that her frankness was ill-timed and eyed her hostess doubtfully from under her lashes. But Mistress Black, far from being affronted was now looking a little sad, though the smile still curved her lips.

"I would not of course. If I am remembered for nothing else, I hope one day to have saved as many as possible from that fate." she said softly, staring into nothing as though her mind was momentarily elsewhere. Then her gaze snapped back Moniqua's as though the instant of abstraction had never happened.

"The reason was simple; your love for my son…" and much quieter,

"…And the beginnings of love he may feel for you."

Moniqua was stunned into silence. She could only stare, as though expecting the woman in front of her to laugh, smile, jump up and say "Got ya!" Then suddenly something snapped and a sharp crack of wildly incredulous laughter exploded from her lips.

"You jest Madame, I think." She tried for a smile but it came out a little mangled. Mistress Dreamer's expression turned just a little colder.

"You truly believe I would jest about such a matter Miss Monroe?" cold, silky, dangerous. Moniqua felt her cheeks warm but kept her chin defiantly raised. She opened her mouth but Mistress Dreamer cut her off with a look. There was a long pause before,

"Now…if you have something intelligent to contribute to this discussion, by all means continue."

Moniqua's eyes flashed, her lips spreading to bare pearly white teeth in a fierce expression that was almost a snarl. Her hands trembled, she clenched them tightly over the folds of her dress, so hard that the knuckles turned white. She had not much experience of being obliged to keep her terrible temper so tightly under control. It took a few moments before she could even repress it enough to be able to speak.

"Tell me then Madame, if you please, why you would think such a thing." she ground out through her teeth, "Because to me, it is a statement of the most ludicrous. I am…confused."

Mistress Dreamer observed the younger girl coolly, as though oblivious to the anger still emanating from every pore. She leant forward and delicately placed the china teacup on its matching saucer that sat on the coffee table between them.

"The fact that he is willing to wed you should speak for itself." she finally said. Moniqua caught herself before her eyes could fully roll back, but the look of impatience on her face was quite evident.

"And I have already explained to you Madame why it is so!" she huffed, "He is obliged to! His hand it is in fact forced! He has no more wish to marry me than he has to jump from a building!"

The rather exaggerated statement tilted Dorea's lips slightly, but she made no comment, allowing her guest to continue her outburst uninterrupted.

"He…he…it is for this other person that he cares Madame, as I 'ave tried to tell you! Henry has no more interest in me than 'e 'as in any other stupid female who languishes for him!" she trailed off, a touch off bitterness seeping through her final words, a flicker of hurt, of acceptance and yet defiance. She sent a challenging look across the table at her hostess, expecting some signs of contempt or mockery, but Mistress Dreamer's face was smoothly blank as always.

For a moment Dorea was almost tempted to tell her of the suspicion that was rapidly becoming a certainty. Her dealing with the outside world had dwindled since Ethan's birth and Jake's illness, it had been possible that she had missed the presence of a woman in her son's life. The very day after the Ball itself, Dorea had unravelled her thread for the first time in years and re-awakened her web of spies that still surpassed Tyrannius himself. On her order they had delved into her son's past with minute attention to detail, no leaf left unturned, no rumour either proved or disproved. Yet after a full month of digging only one female name stood out as playing any part in Henry's life. It was possible to be sure that Henry had buried the existence of this other woman, yet she deemed it unlikely. Her spies were too good, for even Henry to dupe. Thus the suspicion that had crossed her mind the moment she had seen the pair together was, she'd decided, confirmed.

Only one woman had made any impact on her son's young life, only one woman would he thus expend any effort in protecting. The woman sitting in front of her.

But to tell her? The words hovered on Dorea's lips, rolling on her tongue back and forth as she hesitated. Henry no doubt had his reason for keeping the information from her, and Dorea thought she knew what those reasons were. If she was right, and she smiled inwardly, she usually was, the truth could tear the young no-quite-couple apart. Slowly, she pressed her mouth closed.

Opposite her, Moniqua was having an obviously hard time holding back her impatience.

"So Madame?" when she could keep silent no more, "Why then would you think this? What would give you this strange impression that…"

"Did you know, Miss Monroe, that my son has a horror of human contact?"

It was such a swift, sharp, unexpected interjection that Moniqua blinked in surprise.

"I…what?"

"A phobia is perhaps too strong a word, call then a strong dislike. He cannot abide being touched, though he hides it well." Dorea continued, her great, liquid eyes staring somewhat emptily into nothing.

"Such is what he feels consciously. In truth I am of a mind that it derive in fact from a subconscious WISH for contact, a hold-over from his childhood neglect and loneliness. He would now rather convince himself that the choice was of his own making and that in fact he has no desire for affection or physical closeness, rather than admit how he longs for it."

Her head turned, so that the rich burnished rolls of chestnut gleamed in sunlight seeping through the gauzy curtains.

"You are to date, the fourth human being my son will initiate physical contact with of his own accord. Perhaps the only four people he subconsciously does not fear rejection from. Perhaps he simply feels comfortable enough in your presence that his barriers, normally set in steel, come down without him even being aware."

Moniqua's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Dorea allowed herself a little smile.

"For he has touched you, has he not?" she said shrewdly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Moniqua's cheeks turned just a little pink beneath the golden tan.

"I…by necessity Madame" , she replied with dignity.

"No more…?"

The tiny smile was still there, and Moniqua found herself skirting away from that knowing gleam.

"Of…of course!" but it was a defiant mutter and she could not meet her hostess' eyes.

Unseen, Dorea smiled her warmest smile yet and leaned elegantly back against the cushions, her curiosity piqued. Ahhh what she would give to know what had passed between the pair already, away from the public eye, behind the closed doors of Merlin's Obelisk. But it was unlikely that her guest could be brought to confide in her the details just yet, not to a stranger and one so…cold, she admitted of herself quite freely. Still, the afternoon was still young.

With a sly look in those beautiful eyes, Dorea deftly changed the subject and settled down to putting her soon-to-be daughter-in-law at ease.

"Please, Miss Monroe, tell me more about yourself and where you grew up."

* * *

Some two hours later, a man appeared in the middle of the same street, in precisely the same spot where the young woman and elf had earlier that day. Tall, notably handsome, he earned himself a few looks of interest from passers-by as he made his way down the street with unusual, ghost-like grace. The few muggles in the largely Wizarding community merely stared at the striking cut of his marble-cheekbones and the richness of his sleek, deep brown hair. Only a deep, painful looking red welt, slicing though his cheek marred the smoothness of his white skin.

Those villagers that possessed magic, stared for quite another reason. It was rare for the Potter heir to visit his mother, but not unprecedented and he was a well-known enough figure for them to memorise his appearance in case he turned up again in the future.

It took him barely two minutes to reach the Potter Dowager House. His black robes flowed back to his ankles as he broke his smooth, powerful stride before the white gate, settling into stillness as he paused, almost as though unsure. Impossible. Henry Charlus Potter shook his head and pushed it open, and strode firmly into the miniature Eden with a frown.

It hadn't changed in the two years since he'd been here. Somehow the House-elves managed to retain the perfect order and neatness, despite Ethan's best efforts to thwart them. And talking of Ethan, his brother should be home for the holidays, if memory served him correctly. If so…

" RIRI!"

Henry turned, his brow lightening noticeably as the thirteen-year-old pelted towards him, skidding to a halt before eyeing his brother's face with an intrigued smirk.

"Ouch Riri." he grinned, "Someone whipped your…"

Henry frowned, remembering the red welt from the stinging hex Moniqua had sent at him earlier. A deadly raised eyebrow however caused his irrepressible brother to break off immediately and change the subject. Instead Ethan threw him the winning smile invariably produced when wanting something.

"What is it Ethan?" Henry said dryly. The boy was cheerfully unabashed.

"Moniqua Monroe's here and she's promised to send me a ticket to the Quidditch League Final!" Ethan whooped, "You will take me, Riri, won't you?"

Henry rolled his eyes, inwardly cursing his fiancé's duplicity.

"I most certainly will not."

Instead of falling abruptly, Ethan's obnoxious grin widened until it stretched from ear to ear.

"You MUST, Riri. It's your duty to your fiancé." he said sunnily

"Did Monroe put you up to this?" Henry demanded.

Ethan shook his head of brown curls blithely.

"Nah uh. She did mention that you probably wouldn't take me and that I should ask someone else." he admitted a little naively.

"I'm much obliged to her." the sardonic tone did not go unmissed and the observant thirteen-year old frowned.

"Are you…having a fight?" he probed.

Henry blinked and determinedly pushed away the uncharitable thoughts currently running through his mind.

"Of course not."

Ethan didn't look convinced.

"I like her Riri," he declared cheerfully, " I should not mind much if you marry her, even if marriage dreadfully dull and boring" he added with a grimace of profound distaste.

The corners of Henry's mouth quivered and he suddenly reached out to ruffle his brother's hair with a rare show of affection.

"So it is," he said humorously, "My advice to you Ethan is to avoid it as long as possible."

Ethan grinned appreciatively until a sudden doubt struck him.

"But…You want to get married, don't you Riri?"

The expression on his elder brother's face hardened in an instant and Ethan swallowed. In his and his cronies' opinions there was no cooler brother in the world than Henry Potter, but when that icy look turned Henry's features to stone, as it was doing now, even his irrepressible brother knew it would be wise to tread carefully.

"They're inside," he offered hopefully, "Mum was showing Moniqua the roses."

The dangerous expression did not soften. Ethan shot him an appraising look from the corner of his eye and dared to try again.

"I trapped fifteen pineapples in Slughorn's classroom and charmed them to tap-dance and run everywhere when he tried to open the door to his store-cupboard."

At this hopefully confession, Henry's eyes finally focused and he glanced down at his brother with something suspiciously like a grin curling his mouth.

"I hope you are thoroughly ashamed of yourself." he drawled.

Ethan grinned triumphantly and sent him his most wicked look from under his lashes.

"They ran all under people's feet and one committed suicide in the fire under Kate's cauldron!" he grinned, obviously extremely proud of this fact.

"Kate has my sympathies."

"Pah!" Ethan brushed off his rival with a scornful wave of his hand, "Slughorn was in hysterics, but Professor Dumbledore said it was an excellent piece of magic."

"Of course he did." Henry snorted softly.

Ethan beamed proudly for a few moments at this obvious display of approval from his elder before looking thoughtful. He tilted his head to the side again, his expression that of one considering whether it is once more safe to proceed less carefully. Sliding closer, closer than Henry would usually permit he shifted somewhat shyly from foot to foot and, chewing his lip, said deliberately off-handedly

"Um…I…it's cool to see you Riri." he nodded casually, still keeping his eyes on the grass.

Henry shot the boy a swift look of surprise. His rather hard features softened and one of those rare smiles suddenly lit up his face with a rueful glow.

"Oddly enough, I rather missed you too."

Ethan's head shot up, his eyes round as dinner plates, his mouth hanging unbecomingly open. Then, all at once, that beaming grin split his impish face in half and he crowed in delight, before considerably startling his brother by leaping on his back and hanging on for dear life.

"Ethan, what the…"

"Come on Riri, just imagine you're a broom." he clung on with peels of laughter, wrapping his legs around his disproving brother's waist tight enough to resist Henry's attempts at disengaging him.

"Ethan, remove yourself from my back this instant." Cold, precise and deadly. Ethan grinned naughtily but slid obediently down from his piggy-back perch and threw his glowering brother his sunniest smile.

"It's called a hug, Riri." he sing-songed shamelessly, "You should get used to it, seeing as you're getting MARRIED."

Henry curled his lip and smoothed down his ruffled robes with contemptuous look.

"You are a repellent Brat." he said caustically. Ethan beamed at what he considered a huge compliment. Henry, seeing this, rolled his eyes once more and resumed his walk to the front entrance, his brother trotting at his heels beside him.

"But anyway, you WILL take me, right Riri?"

"No."

Ethan's face fell. Putting on his most angelic, dying-father-cruel-brother expression he sniffed mournfully

"Please…?"

Henry glanced down in exasperation. Huge golden-brown eyes blinked hopelessly up and him and with another skyward look of frustration, Henry finally said curtly

"If Fiona is willing, both you and Kit shall be present at the match. Are you satisfied?"

Ethan considered the offer, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"My seat from Moniqua is in the top-box," he pointed out shrewdly, "That means Kit and his mum would have to have seats there too."

Henry inwardly consigned his fiancé to the devil.

"Fine. The top-box."

"And the after-party too?"

"Do not push your luck."

Ethan sighed but decided this was probably the best offer he was likely to get. With an impish grin he stuck out his hand and said cheekily

"Deal."

Henry rolled his eyes but consented to shake the decidedly muddy hand proffered. As soon as he let go Ethan ran up the rest of the path, threw the door open and sprinted into the house yelling "MUM! DAD! RIRI'S HERE!" at the top of his lungs.

Amusement at his brother's actions soon dissipated. The frown settled once more on Henry's brow as the reason for his presence returned to the forefront of his mind. And what had passed between them that morning. His jaw tightened unconsciously, eyes hard as topaz before entering the house and closing the door behind him.

* * *

"MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!"

Like a bullet shot from a gun, Ethan Dreamer tore into the room as noisily as a herd of hippogriffs, causing both his mother and her guest to start in surprise. Moniqua blinked at the human hurricane, who, having caught sight of the plate of biscuits, was now busy filling his chubby hands and mouth with as many as possible.

A steely look from his mother made him hastily swallow down the mouthful with a nervous gulp.

"Ethan…Jacob…Dreamer."

The words were pure Henry, soft as the purest silk and yet dripping with deadly poison. Moniqua had to fight back a grin as the boy licked the crumbs from his lips, his head bent to hide the action, and rather unsuccessfully attempted to hide the remaining sweetments behind his back.

"Relinquish those biscuits…immediately." Dorea continued freezing.

A gleam of mischief flickered ever so briefly in the twelve-year-old's eye. With a look of complete innocence, he brought back fists back to his sides…and then opened them.

Moniqua choked on an undutiful laugh and Ethan cackled wickedly as his mother rose to her feet and eyed him as though he was the spawn of Satan.

Her perfect lips opened, blistering words practically leaping off them, but before Dorea could blast her son into smitherines Ethan let loose his sunniest grin and announced blithely

"Riri's here!"

And with that, he turned on his heel and fled.

Moniqua, still struggling with the urge to giggle, eyed her hostess warily. Mistress Dreamer was literally frozen with rage, like a golden statue to a forgotten pagan goddess, her eyes blazing and her body rigid with fury.

Then all at once, the tension left her body and to Moniqua's surprise, a short laugh escaped her lips.

"If not for that boy's obnoxious charm, someone possibly me, would have murdered him years ago."

Moniqua grinned, secretly enjoying her formidable hostess' exasperation.

"He is quite ridiculously engaging." she laughed. Dorea rolled her eyes, a living image of Henry and tch-ed.

"He gets it from his father."

Her glorious face suddenly turned solemn, almost cold but before Moniqua cold even wonder why, Mistress dreamer was already explaining.

"My husband Jake, Miss Monroe, is seriously ill or he would have insisted on meeting you today. In fact only the contagiousness of his malady prevented him from coming down here despite my entreaties."

Moniqua stared at her in horror and then sadness. For wrong it seemed that this woman should escape a marriage so hateful only to lose the man she truly loved at barely thirty-five years old. A sudden terror flashed through her mind, imagining Henry gone from her life, imagining his death, no longer sharing her days with him. Fear closed her throat and turned her face quite white. Dorea registered her stricken expression with concern and then comprehension but before she could try to alleviate the fears that were suddenly assailing her young guest, the object of those fears strode fluidly into the room.

Immediately the affianced couple locked gazes. And in just that small instant, Moniqua felt the panic fade away. He was here, hers, almost, even if he was still blazingly angry it would seem.

Henry's face was expressionless as he turned away from her and bowed over his mother's hand.

"Ethan was retreating as fast as human velocity allows when I met him in the hall. What mischief has he managed to accomplish in little time it took me to greet the elves?" he drawled.

Dorea indicated the cookie crumbs now trod further into the rug with a pointed raised eyebrow. Moniqua couldn't repress the smile.

"It would seem Ethan is not without an accomplice." she murmured wickedly, enjoying the curl of Henry's lip as he fought to hide the anger he was obviously still nursing.

Ignoring her comment, he inquired coldly,

"Are you ready to leave. I have come to escort you and to remind you we are invited to the Ministry this evening for a formal dinner. If however you desire more time I will return later.

The words were like ice and Moniqua felt a shiver trail down her spine. Earlier marchioness aside, she had forgotten how freezingly unpleasant Henry could be when something truly sparked his temper. With a small sigh, she shook her head and turned gracefully towards her hostess, ignoring Dorea's obvious curiosity as her magnificent eyes flicked back and forth between the pair.

"Madame it has been truly a most enjoyable afternoon and I thank you…for giving me your confidence."

As she held out her hand, she thought Dorea's face might have softened just a touch.

"It was a pleasure Miss Monroe. And I believe it is I who must thank you, my son has most probably been remiss in expressing his gratitude for his League Cup ticket." a mother's smile hovered on her mouth and Moniqua returned it widely as she made her curtsy.

Henry followed suit and bowed and finally brought his mother's hand to his lips, his face still a mask of stone. As he rose Dorea brushed his cheek briefly with her hand and although he flinched instinctively, he allowed the contact. She looked at him rather sadly and withdrew it with a sigh.

"Jake sends you his love." she said quietly.

Henry's face turned, if possible even colder.

"But will still not let me see him I presume." the words bit far more than any others he had uttered so far.

Dorea hesitated and then shook her head.

"The risk…"

Henry cut her off with a harsh curl of his lip.

"I believe we must be leaving Madame. Mon…Moniqua, if you are ready."

One look at his face told her it would be wise to save her curiosity for another time. Meekly she laid her hand on his arms and followed him out of the salon. Just as they exited the house a ringing cry came from one of the second-story windows and a round, dimpled face grinned down at her as he waved his hands wildly.

"I'll see you sooooooon!"

Moniqua gurgled with laughter and returned the gesture enthusiastically. Unbeknownst to her, Henry's artic expression ever so slightly softened.

As they spun and the world blurred, the last things Moniqua saw were the pair of swings, the village square and the words "Godric's Hollow", sparkling on the brightly painted sign.

* * *

_Flashback_

_"Still dreaming, my love?"_

_The woman standing by the window did not turn. Her shoulders tensed, she perhaps stood up a little straighter but otherwise Madame Dorea Dreamer née Black made no sign that she had heard that cold, drawling voice. _

_Her lovely face was parallel to the glass and fixed on the clear night sky beyond it, golden brown eyes surveying the heavens impassively. They matched the dress, the dress that had not seen the light of day in over thirteen years. Her most precious and most hated possession. She had never thought to wear it again. _

_But here she was, with her old…acquaintance at her back. A secluded gallery, an innocent game of hide and seek,…_

_Years ago, a young girl would have would have gurgled with laughter, mischievously thrilled at slipping away from the drawn-out adults assembly. The curtain would be pulled back, she would jump in alarm but it would only be him, her childhood hero, her most trusted friend's elder brother. Tall, powerful, his handsome features set into an expression of bored indifference. Because she had been just a child, and he a magnificent specimen of a young man, and he would never admit to being interested in a filly not yet thirteen years of age. _

_Now the smile that curled her lips was as hard and bitter as the stones. His voice brought back the past, long banished memories, of youth and innocence. Of the girl named Kore. A girl who loved flowers and dancing and dipping her toes into the icy cold water of the lake. A girl who wore one last flower on her wedding day, black as her name for those last few precious minutes. It had been a long time since she had thought of Kore…_

_To change it had been her last act of rebellion. Now Persephone fought with her darkness, her childhood a bitter sweet torment that only the man behind her could reawaken._

_"Tyrannius." she said coldly, without looking round _

_The Minister for Magic glided to her side. He was still a giant of man, dwarfing even the juno-esque frame of the woman beside him. Platinum hair disguised tell-tale streaks of silver; the war had taken its toll, etching harsh lines in that once pale beauty, twisting his lips into an even crueller smile. She did not look at him; she had glimpsed him earlier and felt that familiar gaze upon her face. She had known he would search her out._

_"I presume Mister Dreamer is still clinging to life."_

_Her fists clenched, the cream silk of her throat quivering with fury. He continued mercilessly._

_"Praise be to Merlin. Dragon Pox does not usually allow its victims more than five years. And he so young…"_

_"Save it." she cut him off in artic tones. Dorea Persephone Dreamer née Black revolved slowly on the spot, a goddess in her tightly restrained rage, the glory of the ball gown put to shame by the mere flash in her eyes. _

_"And tell me how you _dare_…attack…my son."_

_Tyrannius tilted his silver head consideringly, the sneer just curling the corners of his pale lips. He did not speak immediately; a long moment passed as he seemed to think over the answer he would give. Finally he lifted his left hand and surveyed the heavy emerald signet ring that gleamed there, setting off the beautiful whiteness of his skin, and replied suavely,_

_"The boy is a prodigy the likes of which have not been seen since Dumbledore himself. He is a vortex of raw, untapped, unfettered power. The man to whom he accords his loyalty will rule this world. I intend to be that man." he shot her a look of mockery,_

_"My fair one…to be so blinded and betrayed by a mother's love . Dorea Persephone _Potter _née Black would have seen what a weapon such a vassal could be and would have trapped him in her web as swiftly and stealthily as she trapped myself. My poor ice maiden, doomed to melt by that last flicker of warmth in her frozen heart."_

_If he hoped to incite his auditor to wrath he was disappointed. A contemptuous smile lifted those perfect pink lips, long lashes swept her damson cheeks in a mocking caress._

_"Cunning as you are Tyrannius; you have reached the limits of even your vast realms of understanding. Do not attempt to decipher and rationalise the powers that move me now." she half-laughed softly, her eyes opened, huge, dazzling and timeless as the earth._

_"No man could comprehend. But any mother in this world will tell you, that the love she bears for her children is a force that overwhelms any other feeling. It cleanses the wounds of a thousand lifetimes. It purifies the very blackest and most twisted of souls."_

_The man before her said nothing, his expression rigid and hard. Her cynical laughter was as soft as a sigh on the air, tinkling and sweet as a score of wind-chimes. She held his faintly incredulous gaze in a grip of iron and said with deadly softness,_

_"Touch either of my sons, Malfoy, and I will fight you with every weapon I possess. Victory I do not claim as certain by any means, but this at least I swear; harm one or other, and I will bring you down from your gilded pedestal and crush you like an insect beneath my heel; be it with my last breath."_

_The promise hung in the air like a thundercloud, menace dripping from every icily spoken word. Their gazes locked and crackled in a silent battle, power rippled on the airwaves so that spider-cracks ghosted over the glass of the window and the velvet curtains quivered as though in fear._

_Finally, the Minister broke the silence, soft and without any sign of emotion._

_«One word from you will stop this marriage. The polite world awaits in avid anticipation for your reaction one way or the other. Your unlooked for presence was a masterstroke. One I can neither parry nor counter. With even an hour's warning perhaps one might have… But at this moment, if you choose to denounce this charade, I cannot prevent you."_

_He glanced pointedly towards the huge golden doorway that separated the gallery from the ballroom, those silver eyes narrowed and hard as steel. The face of a general too experienced not to realise he is outnumbered and overreached. They stared at each other in silence and the laughter and babble from the adjoining ballroom wafted through the doorway. Mistress Dreamer gazed into the void, her flawless features cold and detached. And finally in a low voice that lacked any emotion whatsoever, she gave her answer, _

_"I will say nothing."_

_Tyrannius shot her a hawk-like glare from under his brows, full of surprise and suspicion._

_"Indeed. Why?"_

_Dorea made no reply. The most powerful wizard in Britain eyed her keenly, his highly acute mind turning over possibilities. Then a sharp light flickered in his eyes._

_"Could it be that he…cares for her?" he realised. The woman beside him paused, but then shook her head sombrely._

_"No." she decided quietly. Malfoy lifted his long pale fingers to stroke his chin, and fixed his shrewd gaze on her face._

_"But you believe he might grow to." he said slowly, "That he may have even…begun…" Her silence was answer enough. A low whistle escaped through his perfect teeth._

_"And the girl. Does she care for him?" Still no response and Malfoy suddenly threw back his mane of silver hair and laughed loudly._

_"So! You have not fully renounced your spinning, my lovely spider." he shook his head appreciatively, "But this, this a dangerous game you play. You truly believe she may captivate him?" _

_It was a lazy drawl of a amusement but he could not quite dissemble the spark of interest in this new development. Dorea shot him a cold glare. The smirk he threw back at her was one of affectionate mockery._

_"I do not deny Miss Monroe's charms, believe me, nor the strong likelihood of her, as the common phrase goes, _falling in love_ with HIM. But your son is an enigma oh fair one, and his heart is colder even than yours. Patricide after all, is not within the means of every man. I beg pardon; non-premeditated man-slaughter." he paused to enjoy the fleeting anger that passed over her face, "HE is not one to lose his head over a captivating smile and engaging manners." _

_There was a great deal of cynical meaning in his tone. Dorea's lips suddenly curved into an oddly gentle smile._

_"Is that what you tell yourself Tyrannius? That I, in a moment of madness, threw myself away over the one good-looking man allowed to step foot inside my prison cell?"_

_Malfoy's face twisted into a derisive sneer._

_"Jacob Dreamer certainly had nothing else to recommend him." he said acidly. Dorea simply smiled that same secret smile._

_"Careful, old friend. One would almost think you jealous."_

_The bitter curl to his mouth did not relax, he gazed down at her rather sardonically, platinum head tilted slightly to the side as he appraised her tall frame from head to toe. Then he turned away and spoke, casually to the icy window._

_"I had already waited upon your father, you know. Already informed him that I would wed when you when both he and I deemed it appropriate. You were ever destined to be my bride. Do you wonder that I begrudge both your husbands for taking what was mine?"_

_She met his hard gaze with a small disbelieving smile,_

_"You loved me then, Tyrannius, no more than you love me now. Whereas Jake…" she trailed off, a suddenly pained expression on her lovely face, and continued in a much lower voice, "Jake would give up his every possession in this world, his soul and his life, simply to smooth away my frown. He helped me, laughed with me, saved me when one more night in that man's arms was enough to drive me out the fifth-floor window." her voice trembled, she controlled it with difficulty and raised a satirical brow at him, _

_"Whereas you, my friend, you had your career in the Ministry to think of, did you not? I asked you, if you recall, that morning when you called on my mother with Nero. I pleaded for your help and you turned me off with scorn and smirk."_

_He smirked now, enjoying the not-quite-laid-to-rest resentment that flickered briefly even after nigh on twenty years.._

_"Charlus Potter was the Head of the Department of Mysteries and personal friend to the Minister." he pointed out apologetically, the smirk still taunting her. Dorea returned it a little tiredly._

_"And you have achieved everything you desired. I would not repine if I were you."_

_He shrugged. ._

_"Repine…no. But wonder perhaps…I will always say that you were born to be a Malfoy, oh fair one." he reached out and lifted her gloved hand to his lips, eyes mocking her over the silk. "Perhaps another generation will one day unite our houses as they ought to be."_

_She held his gaze, her smile cold and deadly as steel._

_"If that day should ever come," she said with false sweetness, «I will do everything in my power to prevent such a union. Only one Malfoy would I ever have entrusted a member of my family to, and he died you may remember… a long time ago."_

_Oddly enough this harsh thrust brought a quirking smile to the Minister's lips. He leaned back slightly as though recalling a fond memory. _

_"Did he now?" he asked with gentle malice. Dorea swallowed her anger and cut back frigidly,_

_"And your nephew, Tyrannius. Have you enlightened him in regards to Nero's death?"_

_The Minister's thin lips curved into an appreciative smirk._

_"Touché, Kore,…"_

_"Do not call me that."_

_Tyrannius paused, but ignored the outburst and carried on smoothly._

_"I admit I have not. It is possible he has already guessed. Abraxus is…everything his father could and would not be. An unlooked for blessing; I had not expected my foolish brother to leave me an heir so much after my own heart."_

_The lady's beautiful features could have been set in stone._

_"Nero was my friend."_

_"Nero was weak, just like his namesake."_

_She was silent. He smirked at the lack of denial. Silence reigned for a long minute as both simply stared out into the darkness of the twilight. The stars were scattered across the sky like flowers, they twinkled mockingly, tiny fingers pointing and stifled giggles. The quiet presence of the other was familiar and in the familiarity the years seemed to roll back for just a moment. _

_But the coldness did not lessen. She was no longer the blithe, laughing child who had worshipped him so openly. He was no longer the aloof yet tolerant brother of one of her oldest playmates. There was no love and little friendship between them now; only a deep, embittered understanding and a lifetime of possibilities that had never had a chance to be. _

_But enmity…? _

_No, Dorea exhaled slowly through her teeth, they were not yet foes. Somewhere deep down lingered a reluctance to set herself against him. Not if she could help it. But neither would she stand off._

_"If she runs Tyrannius, I will help her."_

_A cold chuckle vibrated in his muscular throat. She repressed the urge to sneak a glance at him._

_"The pretty little angel? By all means. But I would advise her to wait until the birth and then, on no account must she take the child. Abraxus will care little for the loss of his toy, especially one so close to breaking. But he will not sit by and watch his heir be taken from him."_

_The woman's lips curled in rigid disgust._

_"Abraxus Nero Malfoy is a monster." she enunciated with careful self-restraint "My one remaining hope is that he will serve you the same turn as you did his father."_

_Tyrannius laughed out loud at that, one hand slipping to brush the woman's tiny waist. His silver eyes gleamed wickedly in the darkness, taunting her, pushing against her walls._

_"Ah but not a fool. One does not take the Ministry at thirty and young Barty is too popular and too powerful to make the fight worth the cost. Abraxus is content to wait and enjoy the privileges that come with being my heir and nephew. For now."_

_His nonchalance brought up the old flicker of exasperation._

_"I will be sure to offer him your felicitations at your funeral." her eyes rolled, the words clipped and precise. Her companion bowed with exaggerated courtesy, the metallic glint back in his eyes._

_"Your solecism on my behalf moves me greatly," he murmured wickedly, "I am almost encouraged to believe that you harbour some lingering feeling for me in that cold heart."_

_For a long moment Dorea simply looked down at him, her face graven in stone. Then she picked up her golden skirts, swept them to the side and curtsied with a grace as courtly and insulting as his own._

_"My apologies Minister, but it falls to me the distasteful duty of declaring you both presumptuous and sadly mistaken. And now, if you please…» she lifted her beautiful head and her pride and dignity in that moment was dazzling to behold. _

_"I will forfeit… For tonight at least."_

_He carried her hand to his lips and pressed the smirk that curled them to the silken glove._

_"Unworthy, I protest, but so be it." the satirical gleam in his eye became even more pronounced as that smooth cream jaw line hardened and pressed her rosebud mouth into the thinnest of lines._

_"Farewell, my fairest of foes."_

* * *

**Et VOILA! ^^ So? What did you think? I think it was quite slow, and not much going on but again it needed to be "done" lol. The next chapter will be far more interesting. Ermmm spoiler? Quidditch Final, meeting Florean Fortesque, another attempt on Moniqua's life and another letter ;) **

**And as an extra, here's just a sample of a chapter that will either be after the next one, or the one after that, but very soon promise. No hints, it speaks for itself lol^^**

* * *

_**"Please Monsieur, seat yourself I beg you." she said.**_

_**The flicker of dislike in his eyes was the reward she was hoping for; she smiled with great sweetness, crowing inwardly as the odds tipped once more in her favour. He bowed and, ignoring the items of furniture she had offered, lowered himself gracefully onto the chair directly opposite her own. **_

_**There was a silence. Both gazes locked in unspoken challenge. Then he finally opened those pale lips, his voice soft but, like the still waters of the river, danger lurked below that smooth, placid surface.**_

_**"I have come, Miss Monroe to make a request of you."**_

_**Moniqua said nothing, her dark eyes narrowing slightly, her hands clasped lightly in her lap, she waited for him to continue.**_

_**"One I hope you will be….obliging enough to accept."**_

_**"I listen Monsieur. Tell me of this request you wish me to realize." she replied calmly, still on guard and distrusting on the inside. **_

_**"A simple one I promise you; Relinquish all pretensions to Henry Potter's hand and heart."**_

* * *

**There! Lol^^ As I said THAT will be the chapter I've been waiting to post for SOOOO lol and as to who's asking the favour, I leave you to guess. XD**

**Anyway, again, I hope you enjoyed, and please always R&R, it inspires me to write really it does =)**

**And hopefully I'll see you all for Christmas! =D =D =D**

**Lili**

**X x x x x x x x x x**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi there. I'm not really sure if anyone will read this. God knows I've been away so long, I wouldn't expect anyone to. Sorry guys, really. I can't…I can't go in to why or how or details about my absence. I can't even truthfully say everything's better kow and updates will be regular once more etc… So…lets just say, I'm going to try my best not to let any readers still out there down.**

**Ahhhhhhh! SOrry I almost forgot! This chapter is dedicated to Bronn 15, who beta'ed the main part of it for me, a very long time ago. Thank you, and I hope he'll forgive me for my late reply.**

**Lili**

**xxxxxxxx**

* * *

First Steps: 8-point-Seven-Five

The sunshine was celebrating its victory over the unsurprisingly dull English morning, in fine style. The sky was a flawless blue, decorated with the smallest, fluffiest little puffs of sparklingly bright cumulus, that the faint breeze kludged playfully back and forth according to its whims. The air was warm, the birds were doing their own part to transform the day into a picture-perfect cliché, and had been singing with sweet and rather sickly determination since dawn. And high up in that vast expanse of blue, the little golden ball floated happily with not a care in the world.

Until its tormentor shot out from beneath it like a bullet from a gun with a fierce, falcon-like battle-cry.

"A MOA!"

The Snitch had not even an instant to turn, a moment in which to make a hopeless attempt at escape before the brown hand snatched it brutally out of its daydream and pushed it unceremoniously above her head.

The small white wings beat hopelessly against her fingers, but for once Moniqua Monroe did not feel the silly impulse to let the poor thing go. Instead her fist clenched tighter around the cool metal, imitating the grind of her teeth before grabbing the handle of her Nimbus with both hands once more and diving almost vertically towards the pitch, ignoring the whoops and appreciative yells of her Team.

The skill displayed as she pulled out of that impossible descent should have easily been enough to bring the typical cocky smile to her mouth but today she dismounted and dropped her most precious belonging carelessly to the ground, her face set in stone. With a toss of her hair she marched across the pitch towards the stands reserved for VIP usage and, having mounted the steps, turned sharply round towards the arena once more and folded her arms tempestuously.

"How long?" she demanded, her voice husky and biting with temper still.

The man she addressed lounged very much at his ease, his incredibly long, limber body stretched out across three front row seats. It took him a moment to withdraw his decidedly abstract gaze from the other members of the Team, still working their buts off in the midday sun but finally he blinked, raised his brows at her and replied with a careless shrug.

"One minute, four seconds. You lost a good ten from that Bludger."

The young French woman bared her teeth in a ferocious grimace and glared at the Head Coach of the Montrose Magpies. Even devoid of make-up and taut with suppressed rage, she was undeniably sexy and Miguel Philippe Jordon took a moment to admire the way his star-seeker's eyes flashed when her temper was provoked. His grin was slow, lazy, and very white against the dark, almost treacle colour of his skin. He leaned back on the bench with his hands comfortably settled behind his head, to better appreciate the view.

"You gonna crack and tell me what he's done now to get you this hot and bothered. And sadly, me thinks, not in a good way?"

Moniqua huffed and turned sharply on her heel, raising her still flaming gaze to the other six players on her team. At this distance, most would see only six undefined blobs; to both Captain and Coach, the Chaser's attack formation was off by a fraction and Sloan, their World-Class, prize Keeper, pouncing on their hesitation with the skill of a true profession, picked the Quaffle of the air like plucking a grape from the vine.

"Cylus' balance is off." She stated, ignoring his question. "It must be made better before Saturday; he mistimed that shot, _mais_ _completement_. And Sanders is still more concerned with scoring more than Tate."

"Tate snagged his girl," Miguel shrugged, "If they weren't both of them so damn good, one of them would have gone weeks ago. But it was just before the League and there was no one even close to either of them."

"Men are STUPID!" It was a fierce, frustrated snarl, and made Jordon's eyes open in lazy amusement.

"Oh?"

"Stupid and selfish and delusional and RIDICULE!" She rounded on Miguel, her expression like thunder.

"Still he t'inks that I sleep with another man! No, z'at I 'AVE slept with anozer man! Z'at I WANT to sleep with z'is OZER man and hold him and marry him or maybe just SEX him because I am a French SALOPE!"

Miguel raised an eyebrow at that last one.

"He called you a whore?" He gave a low whistle, "DAMN! But I'm not following babe, he thinks you ARE sleeping with someone else, or you WERE sleeping with someone else? Don't tell he's one of those old-fashioned prigs who still think girls should be untouched and untainted on their wedding night? Poor guy could get a shock coming…"

The mockery was friendly, and reluctantly Moniqua found herself almost smiling. Miguel was the Heir to the old and respected Jordon line but no one would ever think it to listen to him. He was the most easy-going and laid-back man she'd ever met and the only time he ever raised his voice was when he was yelling his lungs out at his precious League-winning Team. Tall as a giant and built like a bear, his smile alone had the power to calm her down just as his silent, ominous glare was enough to shame her into redness. When it came to Quidditch, Jordon was a perfectionist and worked the Magpies harder than any Team in the League. As his Captain and, secretly, his favourite, it was Moniqua who invariably received the brunt of this but she took every criticism and every insult he threw at her because however much it might wound her pride, it had transformed her game into arguably the best in the world.

"NO! He is not THAT stupid at least, but still he…" she trailed off with a huge huff, before admitting reluctantly,

"And he would not call me a whore…"

"Ah-huh…"

"But he is a FOOL! He does not see what is OBVIOUS!" she whirled on him again, startling Miguel out of his close observation of the other Magpies.

"Doesn't he?"

"NO! HOW? HOW can he not see my….?" a faint flush tinged her cheeks, rare as a blue diamond on Moniqua Monroe's face. Miguel eyed the redness with evident enjoyment, earning him a glare that promised dire retribution if he so much as smiled.

"…Fidelity?" he offered, his face rigid from the effort of trying to suppress the treacherous grin.

For his pains, he received a snort before Moniqua suddenly slumped, as though all the fight had gone from her body.

The act shocked him, not that he would ever show it. All laughter aside, he scrutinized her minutely through half-closed lids, as she leaned against the wooden column, her dark eyes staring tiredly into the distance, inwardly worried by this sudden surrender. His Seeker was not a Quitter. The Monroe he knew, had known for two years since she had turned pro, would not give in, not while there was breath still in her body. This courtship, budding though it still was, was eating away at her like a parasite, and deep down he felt a sudden cold dislike for the man who was putting her through this.

"Why are you doing this Moniqua?" the question was blurted out before he could shut his damned mouth.

Mentally he cursed, knowing how much she hated this subject, knowing from past experience how she would shut down immediately if the question was posed. Last time she had locked him out for a month, refusing even to mention her personnel life.

She was trying so damn hard to keep everyone in the dark about the reality of this Fairy-Tale love story. And the rest of the world was fooled. The pair were the golden couple, the public's darlings, their favourite gossip of the moment. Only those who saw the society princess wheezing and sweating in the dust and dirt after hours of long, gruelling exertion, both mental and physical, could even begin to wonder if perhaps everything was not quite as rose-tinted as it seemed. For when exhaustion brought her to her knees, so that she had to be helped to the benches after a seven-hour practice session, then and only then would a few, thoughtless comments would slip bitterly out.

But those few in question would never talk, not even if Grindlewart himself turned his wand upon them. Not one among the six macho, self-obsessed young men would admit it, but however much each among them had at first downright refused to be led by a mere female, and barely more than a kid at that, those same prigs would now willing walk through live coals to see their Captain smile. It had taken years, and many hard-won battles to conquer each in their turn but, every time Moniqua Monroe had pounded her opponent into the dust. Sometimes literally. Today, they wore the nickname Monroe's Magpies like a badge of honour, and trusted both her leadership and her tactical mind implicitly. But their respect in her judgment too was absolute, so although each secretly damned Henry Potter to hell, not one comment, one question was ever raised in regards to the courtship.

* * *

The far-off toning of a muggle church clock pulled Jordon out of his thoughts, his mouth automatically pulling down at the corners in an expression of distaste. Noon, the bell intoned, heavy and dull and slow, somehow puncturing the cheery morning air. And long before the last gong sounded, those familiar strutting footsteps could be heard moving sharply down the stands.

"Mister Jordon." came that smooth, silken voice, soft enough to line a pillow, damn him.

Miguel didn't bother to move from his sprawling position, instead nodding with the barest minimum of civility to young man, barely more than a youth, who glided to a halt beside the pair with no expression on his admittedly attractive face other than boredom.

"Enriqué." Moniqua interjected with cold distain.

Henry's eyes flickered lazily over her clenched fists, her flushed cheeks but the only indication that he had even noticed his fiancé's steaming temper was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. He made no reply, merely bowing gracefully to the man still watching them with a sour expression and saying smoothly,

"My apologies again for stealing Moniqua away so close to the League Final, but this luncheon would not wait. I will return her to you once more as soon as humanly possible, I assure you."

Moniqua's eyes flashed. He was unbearable! Treating her like a burden, to weigh him down and therefore to be got rid of as soon as he may! A week had passed since their disagreement, a full week MERDE! Yet still he sulked! Stupid, stubborn fool!

Jordon merely grunted, repressing the urge to break the boy in two and waving the pair away with a massive hand. At this, Henry bowed once more and held out his arm to the furious woman beside him.

"Shall we!"

Her hands were not quite steady as she placed them on the folds of his cloak, clenching sporadically around the fine material. Just before they apparated away, she forced her lips to curve and sent one last smile towards her Coach, accompanied by a small wave. The look in his eyes said it all. Luckily, the world began to spin, her stomach lurched and suddenly they were standing on the terrace of Merlin's Obelisk, with the sun blazing down above them.

The moment their feet touched the floor Moniqua moved to yank her arm away but he was already disengaging her, stepping smartly out of reach as though her merest touch disgusted him. Rage boiled once more to the surface, threatening to overflow her already weak self-control. Only the mental reminder that they had barely an hour before finding themselves under the most minute scrutiny of all England kept her from throwing a stinging hex at his retreating back.

He had reached the door, and it opened with a flick of his wand, the glass panel sliding smoothly and soundlessly to the right to allow them to pass. Henry paused at the opening, as though sensing her resentful gaze and looked back, the blandly raised eyebrow an insult.

"Do you mean to attend luncheon with the Minister smelling of sweat and mud?"

Moniqua snarled, and marched into the apartment without sparing him a glance, hating the way he simply bowed and followed silently in her wake. Keeping her smouldering gaze fixed on the door to her bedroom she stomped across the room, ready to slam it hard enough behind her to make the windows shatter. He was impossible, insufferable, INSUPORTABLE!

"I assure you, the sentiment is entirely mutual."

A gasp escaped Moniqua's lips, she spun on her heels with a look of outrage.

"You swore you would never NEVER NEVER use that on me!"

Henry curled his lips, shrugging insolently,

"The way you are currently screaming your thoughts, not even T…not even Dumbledore himself could block them out. But fear not, your obliging portrayal of my character does not interest me in the slightest. It is merely your caterwauling that I admit is giving me a migraine."

"_Va au diable_!" she hissed, her eyes shooting sparks at him. The faint twitch of his lips only exasperated her temper all the more. It was so slight no else would even remark it but she knew its signification; the stupid, self-centred, arrogant arsehole was laughing at her!

There was not a quiver in his voice when he said smoothly,

"One day, I am sure I will oblige you. You will most likely be the one who sends me there."

His words, so casually and callously uttered, brought Moniqua up short, her mouth falling open in an expression of something like hurt.

"You think…I would kill you?" She asked slowly, her eyes suddenly staring into the distance, the dark irises unusually bright.

"Either that or you will drive me to the desperate act myself." He drawled without even a blink.

To his surprise, his tormentor made no reply, and after a moment of heavy silence he finally gave in to curiosity and turned away from the mirror in which he had been adjusting his necktie, one brow raised in irony.

The expression on Monroe's face was one of such weariness that the cruel taunt died on his lips. In one blinding instant, everything seemed to jump out at him at once; the dark, bruise-like shadows under her eyes; how many days hadn't she been sleeping? The tightness in her shoulders, bowed with fatigue rather than squared in challenge. Her cheeks were hollowed, and with his eyesight he could pick out the bones in her wrists; she must have lost two, maybe three pounds. How had he not seen this before? Panic suddenly spilled through him! He noticed everything, even that which he had no wish to see; it has always been so. So where had his wits been this past week? That he hadn't noticed his roommate's appearance? Had he truly been so angry with her? Angry enough to refuse even to acknowledge her presence? Furious enough to even not look at her, look and truly see?

His face was blank, portraying not even a hint to the rampage of emotions surging through him. But in the time it took for all those thoughts and more to process, Moniqua lifted her chin in one last burst of courage, glaring at him with eyes that were just a shade too bright.

"We…must…truly….be mad." she finally uttered softly, before turning on her heel and walking to her room.

* * *

Two hours and forty-five minutes later precisely she emerged, clean, fresh and ravishing in an elegant day-gown of dark blue muslin, trimmed with silver lacing and tiny military-style buttons. She had brushed her hair until it glowed and then pinned it up in a knot on the top of her head, allowing a few thick black curls to fall down her back and over her shoulders. A natural shade of lipstick and lashings of mascara brought out the dark liquidness of her eyes and much time and careful make-up had successfully disguised the shadows beneath them. She looked, even in Henry's disinterested opinion, very becoming, but also reflected with a certain annoyance that every man in the Ministry would be under her spell before she even opened that alarmingly loud mouth of hers.

Still something in her face earlier had disquieted him so, as he finished the last few folds to his neck cloth, he watched her from the mirror with a piercing concentration. Deep down a nagging voice whispered that he had taken his anger from the discovery of her lover, rather to extremes. Far too extreme really. Monroe had never lacked admirers and nor was he in any doubt that she had had several, if not many relationships both during their years at Hogwarts and after. But to be thinking of him in that moment, when they had…

Mentally he recoiled, shutting off the voice before it could whisper any further nonsense. What had happened between them was…merely the result of repressed frustration. A natural human reaction though admittedly one he had never expected to experience. With an intellect as acute and logical as his, anger was an emotion very rarely even felt. Other people's stupidity he felt contempt for, nothing more. He was so used to it, that it typically failed to do more that make him roll his eyes. Only the hornet he was about to marry had ever managed, with alarming regularity, to provoke such raw, irrational fury in him. Even the furious glare she was throwing at him in the mirror stirred an answering feeling of resentment.

Biting back the unworthy emotion he turned gracefully around to face her, bowing slightly as he picked up his hat and cloak and held out his arm for her to take.

Unsurprisingly she took it with a sharp toss of her head, her teeth grinding loud enough for his sensitive hearing to pick up. Through them she bit out tightly

"We are ready? _Bien, _let us go."

He inclined his head and flicked his wand, his eyes rolling upwards of their own accord.

The world spun for the second time that day, and to Moniqua's annoyance she found herself clinging to his arm to steady her swimming head. It took longer than usual, until she could actually feel the beginnings of nausea churning in her stomach. Then a voice echoed eerily in her head, oddly nasal and monotonous,

"Name and Password."

Moniqua tried to concentrate on their meaning but a voice she recognised as Henry's was already answering in that cool, annoyingly calm voice of his.

"Henry Charlus Potter, Lerna."

A moment later the world came right and their feet hit the polished marble floor of the Ministry of Magic.

Moniqua blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden chaos surrounding them. A hundred men and regrettably fewer women marched and stumbled and pushed and apogized at an alarming rate, moving so fast the world seemed almost a blur. Over the hullabaloo of idle conversations, a magical megaphone boomed out reports, instructions from higher authorities and the odd trivia fact when boredom seemed to set in. Moniqua vaguely registered bemusement at the knowledge that manticore's enjoyed Worchester Sauce with their favourite dish of human flesh, before she was suddenly knocked backwards by a heavy body moving at the most frantic pace.

She let out a small cry of surprise. The ceiling flew away from her and in that instant she mentally braced herself for the inevitable pain when suddenly a pair of strong arms wrenched her up and away from the approaching floor.

The culprit threw a warbled apology over his shoulder without looking back. Moniqua didn't notice. Henry's golden eyes seared through her like lighting, and she swallowed, suddenly aware of the loud thumping of her heart in her chest.

Slowly, carefully, he set her on her feet without a word. Immediately he moved a respectful distance away, and Moniqua found herself missing the warm strength of his arms around her. Of course he wouldn't hold her more than common courtesy dictated, she thought bitterly.

It was therefore a shock to her when instead of indicating in which direction they were supposed to head, he moved back to her side and wrapped his left arm securely round her waist. She stared up at him nonplussed but all he did was nod in the general direction of the huge golden fountain gleaming brightly over the heads of the crowd.

"Come."

With less difficulty than to be expected he steered them through the heaving masses towards the nearest elevator. Moniqua looked up at him a little resentfully. A word in someone's ear, a small cough and the Ministry officials parted before them with respectful nods and hurried apologies. In few very shorts minutes their way was cleared and Moniqua removed herself from his loose hold with a petulant toss of her curls. Henry did not give any indication that he had even noticed merely nodding to the three other occupants of the elevator before exchanging a brief word with one of them, a woman Moniqua noticed with a grind of her teeth.

The young woman could only be a few years older than them and the flush of her already pink cheeks, coupled with an expression of obvious admiration left no one in any doubt of her attraction towards the Potter Heir. She was dressed in extremely fitted robes that set off what Moniqua supposed was a reasonably attractive figure, and carrying a large stack of parchment. Her lips were painted a dark pink, and she pouted at what seemed like every available opportunity.

Moniqua barely repressed a snort. Didn't the girl know Henry was bloody ENGAGED?! Just MAYBE to the witch accompanying him?! A small "Tch" escaped under her breath but her apparently blind fiancé evidently heard it. He looked up, brows quizzically raised and his admirer followed his gaze, a rather sulky pout suddenly dampening her previously bright smile.

"Michelle Ellemenstra Parkinson, daughter of Germanicus," he supplied , "Secretary to the Head of the Auror Department."

"_Enchanté._" Moniqua flashed a blinding smile, to which the dark-haired woman merely sniffed, releasing one hand clasping the documents to smooth down the rather low neckline of her robes.

Immediately she turned back to Henry, saying with another inviting flutter of her lashes.

"Mr Crouch is waiting for you Auror Potter. I was just up to inquire if he would have any need of my presence at this meeting."

"It is a luncheon, is it not?" Moniqua inquired innocently. "Does Mister Crouch often invite his secretary to lunch?"

The double meaning of the words was lost on neither of its auditors. Miss Parkinson flashed her a look of loathing, but Henry merely replied smoothly,

"Miss Parkinson is his personnel aide. He relies heavily upon her."

It earned him a warm smile from Michelle and a not-so-warm one from his fiancé.

_"Tiens! Comme c'est charmant." _she said brightly with just a hint of teeth.

It was at this moment that the elevator came to a halt, saving the moment and Moniqua immediately held out her arm, indicating for Henry to take it. He complied without a word, not even a typical eye-roll and bowed them out of the elevator onto the main floor of the Auror Department.

It was quieter here, the low rustling sort of quiet that gave the impression of far more important, even secret work. Desks were set up in smart, stiff lines each one occupied by a man or a woman working with rapid intensity over piles of paperwork. Along the far wall were small alcoves, private areas for Aurors of higher rank, mainly squad-leaders. In every alcove photos and documents lined the walls, each describing the case the auror in question was currently working on. The room was brightly lit, the decorations sparse and business-like.

Moniqua stared about her with wide-eyed curiosity. Here it was, the place she dreamed of finally working. The people whose ranks she had yearned to join since the age of fifteen. She drank in every detail, barely even aware that Henry was leading them across the floor towards the far end of the Department, Michelle's seven-inch high heels snapping tartly in their wake.

Only when they reached the door marked "Head of the Auror Department" did Moniqua snap out of her abstraction, startled slightly by the sharp knock of Henry's knuckles on wood.

A voice invited them to enter, and Michelle opened the door for them, gesturing them to go through with another of her wide smiles. Moniqua's teeth ground audibly.

Three men occupied the room causing both Moniqua and Henry to halt in surprise. Sylvester stood to the right, a huge and imposing figure beside the small squat form of the Head of the Auror department, whose flabby face looked decidedly put out.

The reason for his discontent was apparent to all save Moniqua, the only one possessing no prior knowledge of Crouch's jealous peevish nature. His small, squinty eyes kept darting sulkily towards the man currently occupying his usual place behind the oak desk and then away again, as though physically pained by the intrusion. The culprit however ignored him completely, instead eyeing the visitors from his comfortable place in the leather chair. After a moments pause he rose, slowly but majestically to his feet, until he stood at his full, impressive height, surveying them all with the faintest of smirks on his lined face.

Tyrannius Octavian Malfoy, Minister for Magic, Order of Merlin First Class and arguably the most powerful man in Britain, reached for his famous snake-topped cane and for a moment paused, watching with a cynical eye as his guests sank into a bow and curtsey.

He was still an incredibly fine figure of a man despite his years that numbered more than fifty. A giant in both height and breadth, topping even Sylvester by a full two inches and a flawless posture that made him seem taller still. A full head of platinum blond hair head fell to his shoulders, brushed away from a wide, aristocratic brow. A roman nose, cheekbones sharp enough to cut marble and a strong chin all still proclaimed him as handsome despite the ravages the years had left upon him, and his hands, one of which rested lightly on the viper's silver head, were most beautifully formed. An emerald signet ring set off the pure whiteness of his skin, lined and weathered as they were, but his eyes, set under weary lids still seared like white-hot steel.

His presence dominated the room and the silence was long and heavy until finally he waved one languid hand and indicated for them to rise.

"Mister Potter, Miss Monroe." was all he said, his voice low and oddly musical, but above all dangerously compelling.

"Minister." Henry replied, with the cool composure of the Heir to the Potter line and fortune. "It was not necessary for you to receive us here. We would have come to your office at your convenience."

"It does me good to bestir myself." he drawled back, "Indeed it affords me the occasion to observe my Heads of Department in their designated roles. An…illuminating experience."

Moniqua watched Mister Crouch's cheeks flush uncomfortably at the thinly veiled satire before returned her slightly unsure gaze to the Minister once more. His silver eyes flashed to hers as she did so, such a sharp, piercing look that she felt almost chilled. The hairs pricked up on the back of her neck, but in a burst of courage she tilted her chin up at him defiantly, recollecting suddenly that this man was the reason for the miserable situation they found themselves in. This cold, sneering man and his limitless greed for power was the one dooming her hopes and dreams of love forever.

In response to the thought her eyes ignited into flames, she glared fiercely back, anger momentarily overcoming her good sense. A cool smirk just tilted the corner of his mouth and she felt a surge of hatred. His indifference, the indulgent mockery with which he observed her burst of temper, it reminded her why she had taken him in such aversion at every one of their previous meetings. However gracious and courteous his words might be, the sneer was ever present behind the silver-tongue.

He regarded her a moment longer, that enigmatic gleam still in his eye. Then he turned, picked up the hat he had discarded carelessly on Crouch's desk and gestured towards the door with a bland,

"And now, to lunch."

* * *

The meal had come to an end, the sparkling silver platters disappeared by magic leaving the assembled to company to sip a twenty year old port through glasses of the finest crystal. As the only female present, Moniqua had been offered a sweet liquor instead but she had declined with a deceptively friendly smile. Her father was a connoisseur of all alcoholic beverages, red wine in particular and had initiated her as according to French custom early on in her life into a more masculine drinking style. She savoured the port with pleasure, enjoying the contrast of the rich, sweet velvet against the salty cheese that accompanied it.

Sylvester watched her with a fatherly indulgence; he knew well his old friend's contradicting views on the deportment of the women in his household. Only Cicero could nod in approval at his daughter's strong head for alcohol, whilst in the same discussion condemn her for the hoyden, un-ladylike presumption to participate in what he vehemently declared "A man's game."

The talk had danced back and forth from light and witty conversation to important Ministry affairs and Moniqua determinedly held her own in both.

Inwardly she was exhausted. On one hand they had been discreetly informed at the start that everyone present was an accomplice to the charade marriage and so although the knowledge that so many people were aware of the corrupt dealing incensed her, at least neither she and Henry had any need to embarrass themselves by playing the devoted lovers. On the other, the party was a ill-matched group, Sylvester biting back his contempt for his superior through his teeth, while Crouch, oblivious to his deputy's dislike spent the entire time attempting to ingratiate himself with the Minister, his cloying, toady-ing manners grating to the extreme.

Tyrannius received the constant flattery with all his customary boredom, more interested in gently drawing out Henry on most political and financial discussions. Crouch's elder and far more capable brother Bartimeus Crouch, Head of Magical Law Enforcement was stern and precise rather than diverting as a companion and the Minister's nephew, she quite frankly detested. She bore with his sly attempts at flirtation with good-humour though, even encouraging him just a little. The secretary's shameless ogling of her affianced husband still rankled. But Henry did not seem even to hear the lively banter between the pair.

The names of the other three men around the table had already slipped her mind; they were all cast in the same mould. High up Ministry officials, all grey-haired with steel-rimmed glasses, who said little save when the talk turned to political affairs. Yes, the luncheon had been strained; still she had risen to the occasion and by using all her skill and charm, she had, she thought, just about rendered the past two hours bearable. Even the unknown officials had reluctantly given in to her quick repartee and vivacious humour. Basilius she had already counted among her slaves even before this meeting had taken place and Tyrannius himself had from time to time allowed a brief flicker of admiration to slip through his careful façade. Only Henry had remained completely unmoved.

She eyed him over her port with a huff of frustration. Seated almost directly opposite, he had barely looked her way during the entire meal. The rudeness was studied, almost she suspected him of ignoring her deliberately, as though to make a point of his silent anger at their being blackmailed into matrimony. Perhaps he was right to do so? Only Tyrannius Malfoy could invite as his guests the two people whose lives he had upturned simply for his own gain. She even partly longed to do the same, but still it stung to have him demonstrate so publicly that she was in fact less than nothing to him.

They were seated in the Ambassador's Dining Room, a spectacular and ostentatious affair with high-sculpted ceilings and lavish artwork. Paintings worth a thousand galleons each lined the cream panelled walls, closing in what should have been such a large and airy space, and beautiful statues and vases ornamented the walnut furnishings. The finishing effect was actually rather claustrophobic.

The grand master table was in polished walnut also, a beautiful piece and the sole thing in the room she had fallen in love with on sight. It was contrastingly simple, its beauty more in the elegant lines and first-class workmanship than in any intricate detailing. It brought to mind forcibly Old Guy's work, classic yet flawless elegance.

A little way down from the dining table was an antique marble fireplace, exquisitely carved and polished to a deep black. Around it, some smaller upholstered lounge chairs were scattered allowing visitors to rise from the table after the meal to sit more cosily near to the warmth. It was to these that Moniqua went, slipping up from her chair, glass in hand, her mind no longer bothering to follow the quick-fire debate taking place.

She was lost in her thoughts and not particularly pleasant ones when a voice called her from them, soft and close enough to make her start.

"I hope the meal was to your satisfaction Miss Monroe. The chef, incidentally is from your own land."

Moniqua smiled politely up at the Minister for Magic, inwardly wondering why he had followed her apart from the others. Not a hint of her curiosity showed on her face but Tyrannius Malfoy disconcerted her by continuing in that sardonic way of his,

"No doubt you are wondering why I desire to speak with you alone. Fear not, I have every intention of explaining myself."

His smirk was cruel, mocking, just like the gleam in those silver eyes that watched nothing but saw all. Moniqua looked back at him warily.

"_Tiens? _Then assuredly I am indeed curious _Ministre_."

The man sighed pensively, running a single long white finger about the snake-head top of his cane, as though to polish the shining metal. He took a sip of port, before abruptly bringing his gaze once more to hers; his were truly the coldest eyes she had ever seen.

"What are your views on the Pure-blood extremists currently rallying for support in the dark corners of the Magical world?"

The question was so unexpected, it made her blink and she took a moment to gather her thoughts.

"You must know I am opposed to them in every idea!" she proclaimed fiercely, challenging him to take offence. Malfoy was of one of the oldest Pureblood lines in England, though not one of the Seven. Still, she had always imagined him to support the Pureblood movement, it was in his blood and his arrogant nature to think him and his like better than anyone else.

To her surprise he merely nodded, a faint smirk curling his lips.

"I do know. I seek merely to confirm."

"I do not understand why Monsieur? What relevance do my political views have?"

He raised his brows at her, the expression both politely incredulous and deeply mocking.

"I beg of you Miss Monroe," he chided softly, "Please do not play the dunce. Do you truly have no suspicion? I confess myself disappointed. Mistress Dreamer expresses her highest approval of you, and she does not suffer fools."

Moniqua set her teeth, bristling but an inner voice counselled her to be cautious until she knew what he was getting at.

"Perhaps it is your honest nature that blinds you to the ways an ambitious politician's mind may work." he conceded, the slow curl of his mouth an insult, "Let me explain then why your views are…of utmost importance."

"The Pureblood Supremist Faction is growing, slowly to be sure but steadily. For the moment they are content to wait and whisper in the shadows but as their numbers grow so will their daring. Their attempt on your life is an example of this."

He paused taking in her reaction to his words minutely. Up close the lines on his face were far more noticeable, he seemed to have aged ten years despite that incredible magnetism that somehow still managed to dominate a room.

"How much, I wonder, has Dumbledore told you?"

Moniqua started, her eyes widening in shock before she could stifle the involuntary reaction. She looked up into his pale face, her teeth peeking out to chew on her lower lip in nervousness. It was futile to deny understanding of his meaning but she attempted innocence anyway.

"Professor Dumbledore Minister?", bright, innocent, almost simpering, "He is my former Headmaster and a man I count very much a trusted friend."

Malfoy's thin lips curled derisively.

"I'm sure."

All at once, something in that thin, lined face seemed to harden into solid steel. Those hawk-like eyes seared her where she stood and his voice, always smooth and pleasant, suddenly lowered into a biting razor-sharp blade that sliced into her conciousness and left her reeling as though he had physically struck her.

"Do not play games with me Miss Monroe. You will lose. We will do far better if we are frank with one another, as I am attempting to be. Do me the same courtesy, if you please."

Moniqua jutted her chin at him, a militant sparkle in her eye but she said nothing. The Minister for Magic sighed as one would at a child's tantrums before continuing far more softly, but with an insultingly exaggerated patience.

"I am aware of Dumbledore's interest in this matter, as he is aware of mine. We both have the same goal in mind; to learn all that we can of the group's plans, members and affiliations. To use this knowledge to frustrate them in any way possible. Dumbledore has recruited a certain number of his former students in whom he trusts implicitly to aide him in this task, and we both know none is better placed that the society toast, the famous Moniqua Monroe."

The irony was heavy. Moniqua glared at him with dislike, irritated by the implication that her fame and socialite lifestyle was all that made her useful. She drew herself up, chest heaving in a deep breath of repressed annoyance and replied tightly

"I am aware that the Faction is growing largely due to the support both moral and financial from the newest generation of many old and respected pureblood families. Families such as yours, _Ministre_."

It was a daring step but she had nothing to loose, she reminded herself. He still had not revealed what he wanted from her, unless it was to try to turn her allegiance from Professor Dumbledore to his own. If that was so it was a doomed attempt. Respect and trust were the reasons she had accepted her old Headmaster's request. She felt none for Tyrannius Malfoy.

Something dark and undoubtedly dangerous flashed in those mercurial eyes but the cynical smile lingered. He inclined his white-blond head slightly, acknowledging the thrust but pointed out gently

"True. But tell me, how would it serve me to have a Pureblood Supremist group revolting against the Ministry and howling for Muggle and Muggle-born blood?" , a gleam of unholy amusement flashed across his face, "My own personnel views aside, I already posses supreme power Miss Monroe. And I fear I like it far too much to simply gift it away."

Moniqua swallowed, trying to ignore the chill his words gave her but she could not but see a certain logic to what he said. Tyrannius had worked for over thirty years to finally attain the position of Minister of Magic. He would do all in his power not to see that position wrested from him. He must have sensed the reluctant acceptance in her face for he nodded, saying with a noticeable drawl,

"We are, therefore on the same side which is indeed the reason for my seeking you out. I would request your aide, Miss Monroe. In a matter of the utmost importance."

Moniqua set her jaw mulishly, resisting the urge to throw him a downright "No!" She had no wish to help scheming, greedy politicians who probably agreed whole-heartedly with the vile trash being spouted by these bigots. But he would sacrifice such personnel feelings without a blink in order to keep his iron hold over the magical community. The resistance in her expression made him smirk, a gleam of malice dancing in the firelight.

"My request of you is therefore a simple one, and beg that you will consider it carefully. Use whatever means are in your power to prevent Henry Charlus Potter from joining this Faction."

There was a stunned silence. Moniqua's mouth fell open in pure shock; she stared at him as though he had gone quite mad. Then the words sank in; realisation and ….FURYerupted like Vesuvius; spewing white-hot indignation and blistering rage!

"Henry would NEVER…he has no belief in these ludicrous ideas! He has no hatred towards muggles or muggle-borns! How dare you accuse him so?! How dare you say he would do this! How dare you to THINK it?!"

Malfoy cut off her outburst with an apologetic hand.

"Forgive me Miss Monroe. I did not mean to imply that exactly. To be frank I believe Henry is uninterested either way."

She would have broken in again, hotly denying it, but once more he silenced her with a gesture.

"I have gathered no intelligence leading me to suspect Henry of partaking in these supremist views. My concern however is his…connection to a certain young person who may possibly be of this faction."

Moniqua stared at him blankly, her anger slowly ebbing away, leaving only simple bemusement.

"Enrique? But he has no friends, he does not…" she trailed off, her expression of complete disbelief slowly fading into a dull comprehension. Malfoy acted as though he had not noticed her pause.

"I must ask you to believe that he possesses at least one person for whom he would perhaps lend his support unconditionally. The identity of this person I cannot…» He did not finish, for the first time looking just a little uncomfortable since the interview had begun but Moniqua shook her head expressionlessly .

"No need. It is the same. It must be. The one whose life he protects in alliancing himself with me." she said in a small, hard voice, before flashing her suddenly fulminous glare at the man.

"It is she, is it not?! The one he cares for! The one you 'ave torn him from forever!"

Had her wits been quicker rather than rattled by anger, she would have perhaps just caught a glimpse of the flicker of surprise in the Minister's face as threw the question at him furiously. A moment later however Malfoy's expression was a blank mask, impenetrable before finally, after an infinitesimal hesitation, he nodded.

"So!" Moniqua raged, "It is not enough then that you separate them! You also accuse her of taking part in Pureblood Supremist demonstrations! It is of an arrogance…!"

Malfoy cut her tirade off yet again with an elegantly raised hand, causing the emerald that adorned it to flash distractingly in the firelight.

"You may have my word on this Miss Monroe, the person of whom I spoke has had some dealing with these factions. Whether they still do, I do not know. All I ask of you is your sworn oath that neither before nor after you marriage will you permit Henry Potter to align himself to their cause, either passively via financial aid or, Merlin help us, aggressively. I'm sure I have no need to explain how disastrous the consequences would be in either eventuality."

Moniqua was silenced. She could imagine all too well what such wealth as the Potter fortune could do for the rebels, or even worse, his fighting…fighting on their side…

She shuddered, clasping her arms about her for strength before saying far more quietly,

"And if he joined them….he would NEVER….but if…if he did… How do you propose I prevent him?" she said with a faint hint of sarcasm, looking up into his face with a raised brow.

"You 'ave seen 'im in my company Monsieur, you have observed 'is indifference." the words, even forced out as they were from her own lips, stung; she ignored the pain and carried on, her voice gaining strength, "Why would you then imagine that I could stop him from doing exactly as he chooses?"

Again he eyed her with that curiously enigmatic look, silver head tilted slightly to the side as she seemed to sense a hundred thoughts flying through his mind, all carefully hidden behind that flawless mask of unconcern.

"Perhaps you could not. Which brings us in timely fashion to my second request." he smirked slightly as she bristled, a suspicious look coming once more in her pretty face.

"All I ask is that, IF you should suspect for whatever reason that either one of these possibilities has come to pass, you will inform me…immediately…and keep me informed until for whatever reason the need for such information ceases."

Moniqua stared at him in growing horror, as the implication of his words slowly sunk in. It was unthinkable, a betrayal!

"You would have me spy…on my own fiancé?" she whispered.

Malfoy's raptor gaze did not waver even for a second.

"I would have you protect the way of life of Muggles and Magical folk alike as we know it." he countered softly.

He waited for her reply but Moniqua found herself curiously unable to speak. Her eyes were dull, as though all the spark had been drained out of them and her face was noticeably pale under her Mediterranean tan. The Minister for Magic observed her in silence for a moment before finally breaking the leaden atmosphere with a once more low and smoothly casual tone.

"Think on it at least Miss Monroe. I do not forget those to whom I am indebted and although our motives at least may not be the same, the ultimate goal I believe is one we share. Now I believe we should return to our desperately curious companions before our absence raises any more stir."

* * *

The day half the country had been waiting for finally dawned, an unusually bright morning for Britannia, as though the skies had for once heard the population's prayers and crossed fingers. The sunlight came streaming in through the walls of Merlin's Obelisk around five thirty, warming Moniqua's face through the gauzy drapes and causing her to sigh.

A full week and a half had passed since that oh-so-enjoyable luncheon at the Ministry and although she had so many other more important things that should be occupying her, her discussion with the Minister never seemed to stray far from her thoughts.

Today however, she pushed the niggling worry to the very back of her mind and threw back the covers with a look of determination on her face. Today she would make history, at least so she hoped, as the first female Captain to win the Quidditch League Cup. The thought lightened her brow, her old smirk breaking loose as she marched across the room to grab her bathrobe with a new buoyant spring in her step. Yes! Today was the day!

Her entire body tingled with both the typical nerves and an overwhelming excitement. She threw the scarlet robe over her shoulders, not bothering to tie it, grabbing her wand from the bedside table and skipped to the door.

Only to pull up short when confronted with her bodyguard's marble-carved features, watching her expressionlessly from the living room couch.

There was an uncomfortable silence as they stared at each other. For the past week the only words they had exchanged had been brief, clipped businesslike questions and equally distant answers. Neither had mentioned the luncheon, nor the way that Malfoy had taken her apart and talked to her for almost ten minutes. Moniqua didn't bother wondering if he had noticed; Henry noticed everything. What did puzzle and indeed irritate her was his complete disinterest. As though her affairs had nothing to do with him and were therefore unworthy of even comment.

It brought a martial light back into her eye, she lifted her chin defiantly at him and turned away with a toss of her hair, her previous good mood vanishing without a trace. Was it really so much to ask, she thought bitterly, that her fiancé sacrifice one afternoon, just a few short hours, to come and support her at one of the most important games she would probably ever play?! Could he not, just for ONCE make SOME effort to make their relationship seem real?! Why was it for her each time to play the role for both of them?! To compensate for his complete lack of interest by showing herself up as a fawning bimbo who was so blinded by love that she did not even notice his reticence!

By the time she reached the bathroom door her temper was already smouldering and unconsciously, she looked back to throw him a resentful glare. She expected him to have already turned away, back to the Daily Prophet he had obviously been up reading since Merlin knew when. Instead she found him staring right back at her.

Something caught in her throat as she met his gaze and encountered there not the bored expression he invariably wore, but a molten heat that seemed to sear straight through her. Her hand stayed, frozen on the door handle, inexplicably paralyzed. All at once she was aware that the silken negligee clearly visible under her open robe was the one she had been wearing that time. THE time. The time he'd pinned her down and ravaged her mouth like a man dying of thirst.

The seconds ticked by endlessly. Inwardly Moniqua screamed, ordering herself to move, yelling at him to do something, anything. Heat flared to life throughout her entire body, a deep, almost painful yearning that had her hands trembling and her knees almost giving way beneath her. Unconsciously she licked her lips, and she thought that for a moment his gaze flickered, following the movement with darkening eyes.

Then, slowly as though fighting with himself for the control to do so, he finally looked away. The moment passed. His gaze dropped to the newspaper once more, perusing it with an almost fierce concentration.

All at once the strength seemed to drain out of her limbs. Then a huge surge of disappointment welled inside her, followed almost immediately by frustration. How dare he make her want him! How dare he not want her too! With something between a laugh and a snarl Moniqua spun on her heel and entered the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

At twelve thirty the Montrose Magpies were assembled in the changing rooms of the League Stadium; Team, Captain and Coach suited up in their leather gear and white robes with the Magpie emblem blazoned on the their backs.

The atmosphere was electric. Although they lounged seemingly without a care in the world, every pulse was beating at a hundred a minute, every breath just a little uneven.

Jordon stood before his Team, arms folded lazily across his muscular chest, an easy smile glinting very white against the darkness of his skin. Only his eyes glowed with fierce determination, a fanatical gleam lurking in the very depths. This moment was the one they had waited for so many long months; the moment they had trained for, bled and bruised for. Every drop of sweat, blood and tears had been for this one day, this defining moment in history. There was no going back, no second chance. Triumph or disaster; one or other would be their lot before the day was out.

"Magpies," he said finally, "Today we fly…as we have never flown before."

As one the seven players raised their fists and let a cheer. Miguel nodded, the players rose, free to spend the last twenty minutes before the Game, psyching themselves up, laughing, joking and discussing final tactics. Tate caught his Captain's eye and sighed. However, he obediently got up and pulled Cylus Sanders aside, holding out his hand as he offered the apology he had sworn on his mother's grave he would never give. Moniqua hid a grin as Sanders let him stew for a few moments before finally grasping his arm tightly and declaring that they would eat the Wasps alive. The other players cheered and catcalled, in approval and secret relief, as the one element that could have been their downfall was resolved. Tate slapped his fellow chaser on the back and immediately called for bets to be made. Men, thought Moniqua, watching them affectionately as they boasted and crowed over who would score the first goal.

A knock on the door made her lift her gaze from their antics. Nicole, one of the Magpie aides stood there and beckoned her over, an apology on her pretty face.

"Sorry for disturbing you Moniqua, but there's a young man here who is…determined to be allowed to see you." she said, a little flustered.

Hope leapt irrationally in Moniqua's chest.

"A man? Who? It is not…?"

But Nicole was shaking her head sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, it's not him."

The light died slowly out her dark eyes, she fought back the surge of disappointment bitterly. Fool! Of course her was not coming! He had told her as much even that very morning when she had shelved her pride in one final plea before leaving to meet her team.

"It is a very very young man. He says…" she bit back a sudden smile, "He informs me you will probably fire me if I prevent him from seeing you before the match begins. Apparently he is your personnel guest."

Understanding dawned and Moniqua let out a bubble of laughter.

"Ahhhh _Parbleu_, but I am not awake this morning!" she jumped to her feet at once, marching swiftly to the door with a husky chuckle, "Come! We must hurry before I fear he charms his way onto the pitch itself!"

Nicole allowed the grin to escape, and followed, her slim, scrupulously neat person trotting daintily in her heels to catch up with the Magpie Captain's brisk strides. They quickly mounted the steps that led to the Players' Lounge and entered the brightly lit room just in time to hear a young, haughtily determined voice saying loudly,

"…And if THAT is not enough, I should inform you that I am the Personnel Guest of Moniqua Monroe and soon to be her BROTHER-IN-LAW!"

Nicole turned her head to stare at Moniqua, her blue-green eyes wide in surprise but the Quidditch Star only screwed up her face in barely repressed mirth. Frightening to control her features she stepped into the room with an appreciative,

"Indeed he is!"

She nodded unsteadily to the three top-notch Aurors who, upon her arrival had thrown her such glances that could only really be called pitiful. Immediately, the Squad-leader opened his lips in a helpless plea to be saved from this tiny youth who had spent the last ten or so minutes describing quite cheerfully and in painfully minute detail the numerous Ministry officials he (or more accurately his brother) was personally acquainted with and how each and every one of them would be delighted to terminate the budding career of any Auror foolish enough to persist in the attempt to bar his passage. He had crowned off this recital with a disastrously sunny grin and a bright disclosure that his mother would probably mention the matter to the Minister of Magic himself, when next he came round for tea and her special ginger and honey-suckle biscuits.

It was therefore not completely incomprehensible that the three young aurors were looking decidedly green about the gills, when faced with this boy who barely topped each of their waist-bands. Repressing again the urge to break out into hopeless giggles, Moniqua took pity on them and stepped forward, hand outstretched, eyes dancing as she said

"I am glad you came, Master Dreamer! But you must pardon them, indeed the fault it is mine, I did not think to inform that I had a particular guest who was to come this time."

Ethan grabbed her hand in both of his and pumped it up and down enthusiastically.

"Well, I do pardon them." he said handsomely, "But you didn't…you didn't FORGET inviting me did you?"

That impish little face was suddenly, horrifyingly, a picture of utmost woe! The expression of such forlornness in those huge eyes raised so soulfully to hers made Moniqua immediately disclaim.

"Mais NON! But never!" she exclaimed in dismay, her heartstrings being pulled out of their sockets with all the skill of an expert. The small smile of hope on the boy's face, free of reproach or even disappointment nevertheless succeeded in making her feel like she had committed nothing short of treachery.

Ethan held the heartbreaking expression a moment longer before suddenly, a peel of glorious laughter exploded from his crooked grin. His hazel eyes danced in pure wicked mischief and he sang with unmistakable cheekiness,

"THAT'S alright then! I've go to go, Kit's waiting for me with his Mum in the top-box but I KNEW you'd want to see me before the match!" He ran to the door, only pausing to flash a grin at her over his shoulder, "You've GOT to win now, since I've wished you luck!" he declared blithely. And he was gone.

Moniqua blinked in a daze, before the stunned expressions on faces of the Ministry's Best and Brightest suddenly had her struggling with laughter once more.

"There you go!" she choked out between chuckles, "The match is won."

* * *

An hour later and it seemed the Montrose Magpie's unexpected luck-charm would almost certainly do the trick. The Magpies flew like they'd never flown before, their chasers doing the moment justice in a blaze of glory. Goal after goal they'd scored; the points stood at 130/40. The Quaffle zipped from one player to another, so that to the thousands of fans screaming in the stadium, it seemed to appear in their gloved hands as if by magic. The atmosphere was electric; a constant roar that lifted into a howling cacophony with each new goal.

The seven players draped in black, nevertheless seemed to glow with determination and brilliance. The beaters smashed bludger after bludger at their adversaries, pounding their opponents into submission with merciless skill. For the umpteenth time Tate snatched the Quaffle around of the Wasp's reach, fast as a striking snake before passing it so quickly if you blinked you'd miss it. The red ball seemed to fall into nothing, only suddenly Sanders was there, out of nowhere before the opposing chaser could even turn his broom. They zoomed down the pitch, the ball flashing so fast between them as though they were merely batting it with a racquet. The screams rose to a crescendo yet again, as they neared gleaming goalposts! A wink, a feint, and the whistle blew, a high peeling screech that barely cut through the sudden roar of sound.

With a fierce cry of triumph, the Magpie seeker punched the air with her fist and zoomed of once more in search of the elusive little ball that would make her name in history.

* * *

The sides of the stadium reached so high that the top stands rose higher even than the match and it was only in these very last two tiers that some seats had remained empty. A few bursts of people were dotted here and there but in the stand directly above the converted top-box, there was nobody in sight. So it was to this spot that a lone, dark figure soared out of the skies to land with impressive adroitness on the metal railing that protected over-enthusiastic fans from the drop. A rapid, piercing glance around assured the visitor that every person's attention was focused on the match and his arrival had gone unremarked.

Another sudden swell of noise meant the addition of another ten points to the Magpies' score and with the precise timing of a hunter, he took advantage of the distraction of both the crowds and those responsible for security.

The wind alone had noticed his presence, and tore towards him, dragging back the sleek, chestnut strands away from his white brow as thoughy in silent demand as to his identity. Henry flicked them out of his eyes and lowered his hard gaze once more to the swirl of twisting figures below, picking out the only one that held his interest with an inhuman ease.

Having focused on her small, far-away figure, some of the tension seemed to leave his body. He leant against the railing, allowing his mouth to curl into that familiar sneer of derision that the so-called sport invariably provoked. Still as pathetically crude as ever, he snorted inwardly, watching with deepest contempt as one of the Magpies dealt a powerful blow to the enchanted cannonball, sending it screaming into the path of an opposing player. This was the twentieth century and wizarding-kind had still not progressed past beating balls with sticks.

The heavy disdain came and went in a fraction of a second; the glance had been so quick that an onlooker would never have even noticed the lightening change of focus. It was as though his searing gaze hadn't even left that one particular black figure, soaring high above the others, seemingly not even part of the play.

Of course to Henry Potter, the figure was far more than that; even at this distance he could pick out the expressions on Monroe's face; her grin of triumph at each new goal; her frown of concentration, lip held securely between even white teeth, as she raked the pitch for the little gold ball he understood it was her duty to seek out.

The minutes passed with almost unbearable slowness, but never once did that cold hazel gaze waver from its object. He tracked Monroe's movements like a raptor, completely uninterested in the such mundane things as the scoreboard or time. The boredom was no surprise; it was an annoyance but he had known it would be so ever since she had announced the date that the match would take place, and he in that same instant, had known and resigned himself to the impossibility of his escape.

As to why he had not simply informed his intended of this fact all those weeks ago, well those were reasons best known only to Henry Potter himself.

A sudden lull in the noise, a thousand breaths being held in anticipation, brought the man's concentration sharply focused once more, beautifully shaped brows narrowed dangerously over those harsh pools of gold.

Monroe was flying, and all at once even Henry, uninterested and uninformed about the sport as he was, could hardly fail to realize that what she had been doing up to that moment was quite simply unimportant. This, right now, was what she had been waiting for. This was why she earnt mutiple thousands of galleons a week, these last, heart-stopping moments during which she flew as no human being could possibly fly.

Faster than a speeding bullet, she twisted and turned with reflexes almost the equal of his own! With his enhanced eyesight he alone in the entire stadium could pick out the prey she was hunting. The tiny, walnut-sized golden ball zoomed back and forth, up and down, left, right, across the pitch, desperately trying to shake off both Seekers. It was a folorn hope. Monroe followed its every twist, every turn with a determination only matched by her inhuman skill. The Wasp Seeker could not but realise he was out matched, though he tried desperately to keep pace with both ball and opponent, but Henry could see the expression of defeat already creasing his brow.

Then the…snitch? Yes that was it, the snitch suddenly dived into an almost vertical downward descent. The crowd gasped in fear and excitement. The Wasp Seeker's eyes widened as he inwardly battled with his fear, but in the end it was too much; he skewed off to the side at the last moment.

Monroe did not.

The angle was a clear ninety-degrees; Henry knew all too well how almost impossible such a feat was whilst keeping such an incredible speed. His eyes could have burned a hole in Monroe's forhead; he watched her brows descend in total concentration, a hint of a pink tongue slipping out, the clench of her jaw as her neck muscles fought the wind resistence… That wide, wicked smile as controlled the momentum and hammered towards the hard earth at eighty-miles-an-hour.

The flash of gold was inches from her fingers, centimeters when two sudden movements brought Henry's focus snapping round from his mark to the pair of yellow-clad figures pelting towards her.

In those brief instants, Henry's brain seemed to ignite into a cataclysmic incendio.

He could see every tiny detail, different parts of his mind already analysing the information and putting it, puzzle-like, into place and order.

He saw the blank expressions on the two Wimbeldon Wasp Beaters, their clouded, milky white eyes; imperius curse, a planned attack, someone in the crowd, arrogant, enjoys admiring his own skill…

He saw the point of collision, calculated its distance from the ground; ninty-three feet, tarmac surface, liklihood of survival…thirteen percent….

He saw her fingers scraping the shining metal…

He saw her expression completely focused on that stupid metal ball…

He saw the thugs raise their bats, only feet away from her…

He saw her death.

And Moniqua Monroe's death was NOT acceptable!

The movement came from no conscious thought; it was pure instinct, and so fast he would have only been a blur to any on looking eyes. In a sixteenth of a second, henry's hand, white and elegant even in such force of motion, flashed through the air and seemed to barely touch his other wrist. The same movement continued into a descent towards his right-hand pocket that, having obtained its object, drew back once more; the entire action consumed only another eigth of a second.

Those beautiful tapered fingers flashed together in the air before him, his sleeves falling back to reveal two hard, bare wrists and one twisted olive-wood wand.

The man's white brow creased just a fraction, the only visible sign of the greatest effort of concetration Henry Charlus Potter had ever and would ever need to apply. His fingers formed a rigid cage about the wooden strands, entwined like lovers, joined forever at the base and tip, never to be broken. Save by the one man on earth who could both tear them apart and reunite them once more.

A rush of breath, a flicker of pale lids and then….

White…

Only white.

* * *

At over one hundred miles per hour Moniqua's scream of triumph was lost in the howl of the wind. Pulsing like a tiny living thing, the snitch fluttered helplessly as her fingers closed about it. Just another moment and the game would be won… She would have won it, and in doing so would make her name last throughout the centuries!

It was all but over, she could almost see the referee lifting the tiny silver whistle to his lips, waiting for the little golden ball to flash as her grip secured about it and signled the end of the game. The barest fraction more…

The blow to her head was strong enough to send stars spining before her eyes.

Blackness was creeping into her gaze. Vaguely she knew she was falling. Falling hard and fast. The words that would safeguard her body were somewhere in her mind but the pain was unbearable! Her tongue whispered garbled nonsense and as her eyes gave up the fight against the darkness, the last thought in her mind was the silent order not to let go!

The snitch, as though sensing her defeat beat against her slackening grip all the harder.

* * *

The wards placed of the Quidditch Stadium had been orchestred by the very best of the charms specialists that worked for the Ministry. No one could break through them; no one could apparate onto the pitch or even the stands, not even the Minister himself. Only Tyrannius' bodyguards possessed the password that would temporarily disable the wards; in case of an albeit unlikely assasination attempt on the Minister's life.

The information ran through Henry's mind and was simultaneously acknowledged and ignored.

The two halves of the hydra wand trembled in his hands, as even his great mind fought to bend them to his will. With all his strength he forced them into sink and lifted them, as at the same time, his feet began to move.

Henry rotated on the spot faster than the eye could see, imagined the space fifty feet below Moniqua's tumbling form and let the magic go!

The force of the resistance encountered sent a shockwave through his entire frame, and he felt the wands hesistate. They were considering rebellion; he could sense their longing to be free, but he had held the Hydra wand for over fifteen years now and as he tightened his grip, he felt both halves finally bow in compliance. Gratitude for their cooperation and reluctant loyalty passed through him and he focused his entire being on forcing his way through the invisible shield that refused to let him pass.

The moments felt like hours, but in reality only one second had passed when finally, with one last surge of pure unbridled power, the ward shattered into a thousand broken words and floating tendrils of magic. And in that same instant Henry Potter appeared with a deafening crack on the center of the pitch with just enough time to lift his head and the two halves of the hydra wand.

A wordless spell and Moniqua' plummeting body slowed, until it finally floated gently into his waiting arms.

Henry fell to his knees as the magic faded, and gravity grabbed Monroe's body once more in a vice-like grip. She was no feather-weight, but not a hint of strain crossed his deathly pale features. His gaze fixed on her face, so fierce, so intense, the brown skin seemed at risk of spontaneous combustion. Shouts, screams, terror and pandemonium assaulted Henry's ears but he tuned them out with no conscious thought. Every particle of his being was focused only on Monroe; her galloping heartbeat, each throbbing pulse pushing more and more blood through her battered cranium; her short, shallow breaths; the flutter of those long dark lashes….

And as she slipped into complete unciousness, the merest whisper escaped her dry lips, so faint, Henry himself barely caught the words

"Musn't…let…go…"

In rush of sudden, irrational frustration Henry understood immediately, and in brows descended into an almost murderous glare. The tiny golden ball was barely restrained by the tips of Monroe's fingers; the charm declaring the Magpies the victors had not quite been activated. Monroe had not closed her grip; another moment and the snitch would be gone, soaring away to freedom. The match would be declared invalid.

Irritation more intense than Henry had ever experienced flooded his entire being. Only Monroe would worry about such a pointless detail on the verge of death; only Monroe could be so unbelievably, frustratingly pig-headed. Damn her! Damn her stubborness! Damn her pride! Her relentless determination! Her blind, reckless, and altogether selfish disregard for her safety!

With something between a snarl and a snort, Henry cupped her hand in his, rolled his eyes to the heavens and pressed the fingers tightly shut.

The Snitch glowed gold.

* * *

**I don't deserve any reviews frankly. But any I do get will be answered, my solemn word on it.**

**All the best**

**Lili**

**xxxxxxx**


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